


The Exiles

by frankannestein



Series: Cat's Cradle [1]
Category: Thundercats (2011)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Swords & Sorcery, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 97,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankannestein/pseuds/frankannestein
Summary: On the planet known as Third Earth, a race of humanoid cats have lived and thrived for generations in the kingdom of Thundera, led by Claudus and his son and heir, Lion-O.When Felline's father moves her and her sister to the capital city of Thundera, she feels safe and happy for the first time in her life.However, one night an ancient and evil sorcerer attacks the city with an army of lizards. Using technology, a concept forbidden in Thundera, the lizards and Mumm-Ra bring about the Fall of Thundera.A small band of surviving Thunderians, led by Lion-O, who wields the powerful Sword of Omens, flee the destroyed city. Felline joins their search for the Book of Omens, which is said to have the knowledge needed to defeat Mumm-Ra.
Series: Cat's Cradle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666948
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> My favorite form of fanfiction is the OC insert – adding a character that wasn’t canon (meaning, not part of the original story), usually for the purpose of addressing a portion of the story that I feel needs some resolution. Since the ThunderCats (2011) series was canceled after only one season, I have introduced Felline as a means of (eventually) giving Lion-O some happiness. “The Exiles” comprises the first thirteen episodes of the series.

The first time she saw Prince Lion-O, he was drowning.

Heart in her mouth, she stuck her hand in the cold, clear water. Of course, once she did that, she couldn’t see him anymore. She tried again. Missed. The water rippled and sparkled like glass over his profile.

“Felline!” her sister hissed, tugging her tail. “Fa- _leen!_ You got it already. What are you doing now?”

Felline jerked her tail free. “Don’t distract me, Lep. I thought I saw – there!” In her desperate attempt to reach the prince, she nearly fell headfirst into the fountain.

“Stop that,” Lepra said with a hint of desperation, but Felline wormed out of her sister’s grip and submerged up to the waist.

The water was so icy she gasped in surprise, which sent some of it up her nose. It was summer – shouldn’t the water have been a little warmer? Or was it always cold this close to the mountains? Determined not to let the prince get washed away, Felline scrabbled through the piles of other cats already lying at the bottom until she felt the hard, circular edge of his face lift free. Bare feet flailing, she pushed herself upright with a splash and a triumphant grin, the coin clutched in her fist.

“Here, what’s all this now?” she heard through the water in her ears. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Felline squeaked. She was the one clinging to her sister now, claws digging into Lepra’s arm.

Lepra put herself between the palace guard and Felline, who was suction-cupped to her side. Protecting her little sister, the way she always did. “We were making wishes,” she said, and smiled.

The guard raised an eyebrow. “It’s customary to throw in coins, not young ladies,” he said.

Felline flipped her wet hair out of her face and tried for a smile, hiding her booty behind her back. “I dropped my earring,” she explained. Which was actually the truth. She showed the guard her other hand, the gold hoop glinting in a tiny puddle on her white palm. “It belonged to my mother, and I didn’t want to lose it.”

He sighed. “All right, then. Take more care, will you? I don’t want to see you doing that again,” he said. He was an older cat, his armor not hiding the layer of fat built up over his muscles. However, by the way he was fighting a smile, Felline wondered if he had daughters, or perhaps granddaughters, who weren’t quite as well-behaved as they should be. “The fountain is not for swimming. Try and remember that.”

He walked away. Felline snorted. She eyed the marble fountain, which was both taller and bigger around than their old house. A great, blue-headed feline rose majestically out of the middle. The red seal of the royal family, the Eye of Thundera, rested at the base of its snowy throat. Lesser felines surrounded the lordly, blue-headed one, pouring water from their open mouths into the multi-tiered basin.

The fountain in the village square of Foret had been little more than a crumbling, moss-covered well. This monstrous thing, its basin littered with shiny, overlapping mounds of coins, might as well have been spouting wine.

The busy square rippled with activity like the water in the fountain. The quiet murmurs of Thunderian nobles bounced around the colonnades and tropical gardens, joining with birdsong. Quite a few of the nobles had seen Felline’s watery rescue; she noticed the covert pointing and half-hidden grins. Oh, well, she thought consolingly to herself. At least she was no longer nonexistent. Maybe she would meet some nice boys now.

Lepra crossed her arms, tapping her foot. “Felline. What on Third Earth were you doing?”

“Look, Lep!” Excitedly, Felline showed her sister what she’d fished out of the fountain, the gossiping nobles forgotten. “It’s the new silver bob. The one with Prince Lion-O on it.”

“A coin?” Lepra put her face in her hands, bowing her head as if crushed by the weight of her shame. “You dove into the fountain in front of all these cats to pick up a coin? You’re soaked!”

“It’s not just any coin,” Felline said, still examining her prize. “It was minted this summer. I haven’t seen one yet. They’ll be worth a lot someday, right? Besides, the likeness is supposed to be exact. Don’t you want to see what he looks like?”

As she spoke, Felline turned the coin over, admiring the Eye of Thundera and the neat stamp of the royal treasury on the back, and then scrutinized the prince’s profile on the front. He looked like a typical lion, and a young one at that, if the length of his mane was any indication. Felline pouted. She thought he’d be more handsome than that.

“We have money, Felline!” Lepra scolded. “You don’t need to steal someone else’s wish. That’s what you’ve done, you know. Stolen someone’s wish.”

“Oh, calm down, Lep,” Felline said. She closed her fingers over the precious coin, annoyed at the wash of guilt her sister’s words caused. In spite of the summer heat, the white fur of her arms was standing up.

After a moment, Lepra sighed. “Would you give me that?”

“What, the coin?” Felline asked. When her sister shook her head, Felline realized Lepra meant the trinket that had started this whole adventure. She reached up and touched her ear. “I thought I was setting the one-earring fashion.”

“Hardly.”

It was her turn to sigh. “I wish the clasp wouldn’t keep coming undone.”

“Ever think that was why Mother gave it to you?” Lips tight, Lepra inserted the earring and closed it, not meeting her sister’s eye. “An old, worn-out, unwanted pair of earrings. Make a gift of them and then she couldn’t be accused of throwing them away.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Felline said. She slapped at her sister’s hands. “Mother wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t she?” Lepra snapped.

Refusing to be drawn into another circular argument, Felline crossed her bare arms, shivering. Her dripping gown made a little ring of water around her feet, while the fountain continued plashing and burbling next to her. Mother was gone. She’d abandoned them in the night, leaving their father sad and broken, but it didn’t mean she hadn’t loved her daughters. It wasn’t like she was going to replace them with someone new, something better.

“You know that’s why Father brought us here, don’t you?” Lepra persisted, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Here to Thundera, I mean. Mother hated the country. She wanted to be part of grander things. He’s hoping she’ll come back to him. But she won’t.”

“He brought us here because he couldn’t stand staying in the house where they’d been happy,” Felline, goaded into speaking, said. Why did Lepra have to be such a sourpuss? This was a beautiful day, and Thundera was a magnificent city. Father’s recent promotion afforded them a luxury that his wages as a town guard in Foret couldn’t. They lived in a large, new home, complete with servants and cooks and stables. Father had given them each a Thunderian mount, and Lepra had named hers Lightning. Felline was more romantic. Hers was Blue Beauty. They wore expensive clothes, armbands and anklets of gold, with real jewels in their barrettes. With oodles of leisure time, they could take a stroll and throw silver bobs into this monstrosity of a fountain and pretend it would grant wishes.

Plus, they would never be safer than they were, right there, right then. Thundera’s high white wall kept out the other animals of Third Earth. The only road in or out of the city ran through the massive gate that led onto the plains to the south. Curving around the wall from the north, the hazy purple mountains cradled Thundera in rocky arms. The city pooled in a natural box canyon. It protected the cats from marauders. Just that morning, a patrol had arrested a pair of lizards stealing from the granaries and locked them in the stocks for all to see. What more did her sister want?

“Maybe Mother will come back. When she’s not angry anymore,” Felline said. She could understand a reason like that. Sometimes she just had to get _out._ She could spend a whole day exploring the city by herself, watching the way the other Thunderians lived. She always returned home, though, because she loved her father and her sister. Mother would do the same.

“I think you’d better take this kitten home before she catches a cold,” a voice said, interrupting whatever retort Lepra had planned on making.

One of the nobles had approached after all, a handsome man with silky, sable fur and yellow eyes. He smiled, winked, and began to remove his coat. “If you like, I could walk you.”

Felline smiled in a way that made her want to laugh. It was happening at last! A man was taking an interest in her, and he was possibly the finest cat she’d ever seen, tall and lean, and those _eyes_ . . .

He practically purred when he said, “When the kitten is a-bed, lady, perhaps you and I could go for a bite to eat together.”

Fantasy ruined, Felline put back her wet ears. Not again! Why did this always happen? Whenever Lepra was around, Felline may as well be her insignificant petcat!

Felline glanced at her sister, whose had arranged her face into an expression of detached politeness.

She sighed. It wasn’t Lepra’s fault. She took after their mother, that was all, and Felline didn’t. Lepra’s hair was long and golden, bound with raspberry garnets. Velvet maroon rosettes pranced across her slim shoulders. The faded gold of her face framed eyes of warm amber. Her ears came to delicate points on the sides of her head. Behind coral pink lips, her fangs wickedly invited admiration when she smiled the right way, a trick that Felline hadn’t mastered.

Lepra was everything her little sister wasn’t. Striking. Long-legged. Sultry as summer.

Snow leopards, on the other hand, were small cats – even their father stood shorter than most men, though he was broad and solid. Felline could only be described as petite. The top of her head barely reached her sister’s shoulder. They lacked color, too. Unlike Lepra’s molten eyes, which tilted up at the outer edges, Felline’s big, round kitten eyes projected an aura of innocence, blue as glacial ice and rimmed in black. Even her rosettes were black, her face stark white except for the two black tear lines that curved from the inner corners of her eyes to the edges of her mouth. Too cold, a boy back home had once told her. _You’re a cat of winter, Felline. I am going to lay with summer._ All he’d gotten for his arrogance was Lepra’s palm across his cheek, but nothing could erase his words from Felline’s heart.

Shoulders hunched, Felline sidestepped the handsome stranger when he moved to drape his coat over her shoulders. She couldn’t stop her long, fluffy tail from twitching side to side in annoyance. He looked taken aback. Maybe a little angry. Felline closed her eyes and turned her face away. Of course. Men were all the same. How dare she not be a prop in his carefully crafted scene?

Lepra came to her rescue. She removed her shawl and wrapped it around Felline.

“That’s very sweet of you, but we know our way home,” Lepra said gently but firmly, “and if she goes, I go. We’re twins, after all. We do everything together.”

“T-Twins!” he exclaimed, stammering over the simple word.

Felline rolled her eyes. Always the same. She looked like a cub of ten; Lepra, a woman of eighteen. She’d heard it before. She didn’t care to hear it again.

“Please excuse us,” Lepra said. She smiled, dazzling him.

“Some other time, then,” he called after them. Belatedly, and a little awkwardly, he added, “Ladies.”

“Maybe,” Lepra said over her shoulder.

“When cats fly,” Felline said over hers.

..::~*~::..

Early morning light glistened on fresh ink scrawled across parchment. Thinking over what she’d written, Felline bit the tip of her pen. Master Korvu, her tutor, a prim, fussy cat wearing pince-nez, a waistcoat, and a cravat, winced. She noticed, and quickly put down the pen. This wasn’t Foret. She couldn’t behave like a country girl here. Master Korvu cleared his throat.

“Your conclusions?” he prompted.

Today, he had presented texts on the legend of technology for their studies. Felline and her sister had had a scholastic teacher back home – the famous Mistress Chat – who had taught them letters and arithmetic, cooking and sewing, lessons with practical applications. Master Korvu, however, approached their schooling from a different angle. He brought poetry, grammar, history, moral philosophy, and rhetoric to the table. He expected them to appraise the texts through a combination of reasoning and empirical evidence, and then debate their findings.

“Technology is fiction,” Lepra said dismissively. Her parchment lay blank on the desktop. “The texts clearly state that machinery could move on its own if provided the power of a storm. Yet, nothing struck by lightning has ever gained a life of its own. You don’t see houses walking down the street. They only burn.”

“I disagree,” Felline said. “Machines were built for a purpose. A house’s purpose is to stay put, but if a device was constructed to, say, dig a hole, then that is what it would do.”

“Why on Third Earth would you need a machine to dig a hole?” Lepra asked.

“More efficient use of time, or labor, or cost?” Felline suggested. “These machines did exist. They must have.”

Master Korvu, his arms crossed, nodded his head and waited for Lepra’s rebuttal.

Lepra shrugged. “If they exist, bring one to me. Since you can’t, I conclude that they are fairy tales. Fairy tales have morals. The moral is clear: Technology is an evil that is best left forgotten.” She shut her book with a _thwap_ and sat back, her gaze straying to the window.

“Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Felline murmured. She examined at a twice-copied reproduction of what machinery might have looked like. It appeared to be some kind of farming vehicle. The artist’s interpretation included partial diagrams and smudged equations in a language that no longer had any meaning to anyone except the clerics. “Pretending it doesn’t exist doesn’t keep it from existing.”

“Lepra?” Master Korvu prompted. “Your response?”

Lepra stood up. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very well,” she said. “Excuse me.”

Master Korvu was half out of his chair, but Lepra was out the door.

“Never mind, never mind,” he said to no one, flustered. Patting at his pompadour, he sat back down. Polished his pince-nez before snapping them neatly back on his nose. Looked at Felline like a dog that had been kicked. “Shall we move on to literature?”

What in Thundera had gotten into Lepra? The rest of Felline’s lessons seemed to take forever. When Korvu finally packed his things and took his leave, she went in quest of her sister.

She found Lepra in the stables. Felline opened the door to dusty coolness, shafts of sunlight that caressed the stone floor, and the feline odor of Thunderian mounts. Picking up the hem of her skirt so that it wouldn’t drag in the sand, she pushed open the gate to Lightning’s stall and peered inside.

Lepra sat curled up between Lightning’s front hooves, her head resting against his cobalt chest, her claws combing through his stiff, cornflower-blue mane. Lightning dozed in a sunbeam, the tip of his tail curling and straightening in contentment.

Felline pulled a bit of jerky out of her sash. Her bare feet sank into the sand lining the stall, so fine it held perfect prints. Offering the jerky to a suddenly awake and interested Lightning, she knelt and touched her sister’s ankle. “What’s wrong, Lep?”

“I hate it here,” Lepra muttered. She turned her face into Lightning’s chest.

The mount flexed his two-toed hooves in the sand. He draped one foreleg across his mistress. Hunting for more treats, he nibbled her hair.

Felline stared at what she could see of her sister – the curve of one slim, rosetted shoulder, the low, ruched back of her gown, a few wisps of golden hair. “You mean you hate Thundera?”

“I do.” Lepra’s voice was muffled. “I want to go home.”

Felline couldn’t believe her ears. There was nothing in Foret. Nothing. A bunch of farms, wooded valleys, rolling hills, and the same cats, day in and day out. Felline had always felt like she was suffocating there. Which, she realized, must have been how her mother felt. Master Korvu alone provided more food for thought than the entire town library back home, with its grand total of fourteen books. She couldn’t conceive that Lepra wasn’t as happy here as she was. Happier, even. Lepra had received more than one offer of courtship since they’d moved to Thundera, but she’d refused them all, which hadn’t thrilled their father overly much.

How could Lepra not love Thundera? The city glimmered like a jewel in the center of the cat empire’s vast, resourceful lands. King Claudus’s palace, Cat’s Lair, lay like a proud sphinx in its heart, a monument to their status as lords over all animals of Third Earth. There was nothing they couldn’t buy or do in the royal city.

Felline racked her brains for what would change her sister’s mind about Thundera.

“Let’s go hunting,” she said.

Lepra sniffled. “What?”

“Hunting,” Felline repeated. She grinned. “There’s a wildlife reserve on the river side of the first quarter. We don’t have to leave the city, and it’ll give us a chance to stretch our legs.”

“How do you know about this?” Lepra asked. She stopped hiding against Lightning.

“I came across it accidentally,” Felline said. She’d roamed all the upper districts of the city so far but hadn’t yet found her wanders taking her to the slums, and that was just fine with her. “All we have to do is purchase a license at the gate, and we can hunt there. We can even keep what we kill.”

“We’d better change out of these gowns, then,” Lepra said. She stood to brush sand off her skirt. Lightning whickered, thrusting his square head at his mistress. Lepra gave him a pat. “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll be back for you soon enough.”

..::~*~::..

The chib-chib knew they were there.

The sisters had tracked the buck for the better part of an hour, chasing his blue-striped hide through the shadows of trees and underbrush. He stood now in a clearing, head high, steel-blue beak turned into the wind. The breeze teased at his floppy ears and white mane.

Eyeing his curved, dangerous horns, Felline slipped off Blue Beauty. She patted her mount’s neck soothingly, and the mare, trained for hunting, transformed into a cobalt statue. Leaving her, Felline crept forward on all fours.

Peering from beneath a shrub, one the chib-chib had already stripped of buckeyes, she nocked an arrow. The chib-chib gave a questioning warble, listening. He lifted a delicate hoof, the fur of his fetlock a spray of feathery white, and then put the hoof back down in the exact same spot of mulch. Not breathing, Felline drew her arrow.

She released it. Her shot went wide, and the chib-chib broke for cover.

All feline grace, Lightning surged out of the woods with Lepra astride his back, her bow taut between her hands. Fierce as only a cat could be, she stood in her stirrups, fangs bared. She released, and her arrow found its mark. Brought up short, the chib-chib chirped once before crashing to the ground. It lay still.

With a whoop, Felline ran to her sister. “Nice shot!”

“Thank you, but what happened to yours? Haven’t you been practicing?” Lepra dismounted, bow in hand. “You shouldn’t have missed a shot like that.”

“I know,” Felline grumbled, embarrassed. The daughters of noblemen were deemed too delicate, both of body and of mind, to learn martial arts. Unlike Lepra, she’d never been very good at archery.

“Help me with this,” Lepra said, gesturing at the fallen chib-chib. She’d already broken down and stored her bow. She wrapped her hands around the bigger pair of the chib-chib’s four horns.

Quickly, Felline put her own bow away and whistled for Blue Beauty. She grasped the chib-chib’s tail above its fanned tip and together, the sisters hauled the carcass to the stream they’d crossed not too long ago. Whickering, Blue Beauty and Lightning picked their way to the water and lowered their heads to drink.

It wasn’t until the sisters had skinned and cleaned the chib-chib and they were washing off the blood in the rocky stream that Felline noticed something odd about Lepra’s left hand.

She was wearing a ring. A gold one. With a small, clear stone. On her third finger.

Felline snatched her sister’s hand out of the water, unintentionally splashing them both. “Wh-Where did you get that?” she spluttered, dripping.

For a long moment, Lepra didn’t answer, staring at the ring. Then, softly, she said, “Rachan gave it to me. Before we left Foret.”

“Rachan? That farmer back home?” Felline gasped. “He _proposed?_ But Father –”

“Won’t agree,” Lepra said. “I know. Rachan said he would come for me when he saved enough money. Although we don’t know when that will be, I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

Lepra lifted her left hand with the right, putting the ring to her lips. A single tear escaped her closed eyes.

Felline stared at her, dumbfounded. She remembered Rachan as a shy, clumsy man on the wrong end of thirty, a bit on the chubby side, a bit on the shabby side. What she couldn’t remember was him ever being alone with her sister, ever even speaking more than two words at a time to her. If what Lepra was saying was true, then –

“Where did he get a ring like that?” she demanded.

“It was his mother’s,” Lepra said. Love shone in the gold-brown depths of her eyes.

“How long?” It came out a whisper.

“He asked me to marry him about six months ago,” Lepra answered. “The day we left. As for how long I’ve loved him, I don’t know when it started. It happened so gradually.”

“But . . . He’s a farmer. Back in Foret.”

“Yes.”

“That means you’ll leave us.” Felline put her ears back in accusation.

Lepra blinked as if she’d walked from a dim room to a bright one. “Oh. Yes, but that won’t be for a long time. Years, perhaps.”

She said it so casually. As if leaving wasn’t exactly what their mother had done. As if she wanted to be a farmer’s wife. Felline couldn’t believe it. Sleek, sultry Lepra, in an apron and head scarf, covered in flour with kittens hanging on her ankles!

“What about all those _men,”_ Felline spat the word, “who keep asking Father for your favor? He won’t refuse them forever. He’ll choose someone if you won’t.”

“You have to promise me something,” Lepra said urgently. She threw her arms around Felline and spoke into her neck. “Promise you won’t tell him.”

“We have to tell him! He’ll hide the fact that you’re already spoken for to save our reputation.”

“Please, Felline. Do this for me.”

Felline didn’t answer, but she held her sister as tightly as she could.


	2. Chapter Two

No matter how she looked at it, Felline couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that Lepra was engaged to Rachan the farmer.

To put it bluntly, the news made her feel like a two-week cub: blind, self-centered, and useless.

She wandered the city streets alone. She passed buildings crawling with vibrant ivy and crossed bridges that spanned the cliffs leading down to the slums. The Rufus River cut Thundera in half lengthwise, fed by the waterfall pouring down the bluff behind Cat’s Lair. Her feet took her as far south as she could go without leaving the upper districts. She stared morosely down at the rapid water of the Rufus, which coursed in the general direction of the front gate. Smaller white walls cut cross-sections into the city, stretching east to west, separating royalty from nobility, nobility from gentry, and so on down the line.

How could she not have known this about her own twin sister? Felline put her elbows on the bridge railing and her face in her hands, studying the red-tinged darkness behind her eyelids.

Lepra was engaged. She was a woman grown, in spite of the mere eight minutes between them. With a sigh, Felline dropped her hands. The summer daylight dazzled her, and she could smell roses. Restless, she stepped higher on the rail, her glacial eyes trained on the blue sky. For six months, Lepra had carried this secret all by herself. Not once had she betrayed a hint of sadness for herself, not until the day she had confessed.

Well, it wasn’t Lepra’s sole secret anymore. The least Felline could do was try to understand her point of view.

“Hey – um, excuse me?”

Felline turned around. She had a feeling that the guard standing behind her, one hand raised, an embarrassed expression spreading across his gray face, had been calling to her for several minutes. His eyes beneath his open-faced helm were an even lighter gray, his fingers black as soot.

“Yes?” she asked. A hot breeze plucked at her gown and the fur of her tail when she hopped away from the railing.

Relaxing now that he had her attention, the young guard smiled. “I thought for a moment I had a jumper on my hands, but you don’t seem the type.”

“The type?” Felline eyed him. He had a nice face, she decided. Less pretentious than some of the nobles, more intelligent than most farmers.

_Stop it,_ she reminded herself. Lepra loved one of those farmers.

“You’re Commander Snow’s daughter, aren’t you?” the guard asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.

She raised her eyebrows. “One of them.”

“Yeah, I know, brilliant deduction, right?” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, his halberd clutched in the right. “I mean, you look just like him.”

“I do?” Felline giggled, and a blush overspread his pale cheeks. Well, that was charming.

“No – I don’t mean –” He stopped, confused, and then laughed when he saw she wasn’t offended. “Yes, I do mean it. Just like him. That’s the commander’s Hairy Eyeball we all know and love. My name’s Bastien, by the way.” He stuck out his hand.

“Felline.” They shook.

“That’s pretty,” he said. Then, he coughed and released her, looking at something over her head. Not that he had to look far up. She barely reached the middle of his sternum. “Anyway, it’s my job to keep distraught ladies from flinging themselves off the bridge, or something.”

“There’s no crime in saying hello.” His nervous rambling charmed her as much as his face did. She couldn’t help returning his smile. “Hairy Eyeball, huh? That’s funny. My sister calls it Stink Eye. It’s the one thing I do better than she does.”

His laughter was louder that time. “So, do you come here often?” he asked, sweeping out his arms to encompass the bridge and the few pedestrians crossing it. Like all palace guards, he wore a tan belt over a blue tunic, fastened with the smooth, round, red jewel that symbolized the Eye of Thundera, and silver greaves over black trousers. “What brings the Commander’s daughter to a boring place like this?”

He was flirting with her! Felline dropped her eyes. Before she could formulate an answer, however, a distant shout made him fix his pale gray eyes on the outer city wall. He put his hand on her shoulder and as politely as possible pushed her behind him. He stared over the edge of the bridge.

“Something approaches!” came the warning cry. “Sound the alarm!”

Like the growl of a great cat, one of the giant horns set in the domed watchtowers began to speak. The horn used to be a sea creature’s shell, brought hundreds of miles inland from the Great Sea, held aloft and pointed toward the city by a purple ribbon. It required a single cat to bring it to life. It had a deep, resonant voice that thrummed in Felline’s chest. The noise was incredible. She clapped her hands over her ears.

The horn quieted as quickly as it had started. Setting his halberd to the side, Bastien leaned over the sun-warmed bridge rail. So did many of the passersby. They lined up along the bridge, asking unanswerable questions of each other. Curious, Felline joined them.

“There,” Bastien said to her in a low voice. He pointed. Not below, into the shadowy slums, but out, past the wall.

Felline squinted into the glare. At first, all she could see was a smudge on the horizon, but it soon resolved itself into a flatbed wagon, drawn by a score of slaves, four abreast and five deep. Each thin-chested, crook-legged lizard bore a collar and a chain, shackled to his neighbors. Shuffling along, they grimaced with the weight of their load, or the dryness of their throats. Dust billowed behind the wagon’s high wheels, obscuring the thin white ribbon of the road and part of the cloudless sky. Lashed atop the wagon, what looked like an enormous spiky burr made of rock and yellow crystal crouched.

“What is that?” she breathed. It was hideous.

Bastien shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Several riders galloped noisily beneath the bridge, their mounts’ hooves pounding, tack jingling. Bastien sucked in a breath. It was King Claudus, Lord Jaga, the high cleric, the princes, Tygra and Lion-O, and a cluster of palace guards. Felline was so surprised to catch sight of her father – the armor couldn’t hide a snow leopard’s distinctive tail – that she didn’t get a good look at either her king or his two sons before they rushed around a bend in the road and were lost to sight.

Whatever was happening, it was important enough to pull the king from Cat’s Lair. After his passing, the crowd dispersed, buzzing with what they had seen.

“I’d better go home,” Felline nervously said, backing away.

“Wait.” Bastien caught her hand, forcing her to stop. He bent close, gray eyes wide and serious. “Could I see you again?”

“Maybe,” she said, but the corners of her mouth curved up. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Bastien grinned and jogged back to his original position.

Felline looked over her shoulder twice before she reached the end of the bridge, and caught him watching her sidelong. At the intersection, she picked up her skirt and ran for home, laughter bubbling past her lips. Wait until Lepra heard about this.

..::~*~::..

To Felline’s delight, criers announced a festival called for sundown. By royal decree.

King Claudus was possibly the biggest cat she had ever seen. He exuded raw physical power. His riotous red mane and beard turned him into something like a burning sun, his bare arms solid muscle beneath his honeyed fur.

The night grew cold enough for cloaks. Felline and Lepra stood with what felt like the entire population of Thundera at the bottom of the steps cut into the wall surrounding Cat’s Lair, while the king raised his cream-colored hands for silence from the balcony above it. A festival had been called shortly after the arrival of the wagon and its mysterious cargo, which was now on display in the center of the courtyard. A ring of torches and pennant flags had been strung up around tables laden with grilled fish, barbecued haunches of meat, roasted vegetables, fresh-baked bread, and chilled fruit. Strings of yellow lanterns crisscrossed the courtyard, swaying in the breeze. Tiny white Cheshire, one of Third Earth’s three moons, rode high in the sky. Leo, the gas giant named after the king who had built Thundera, lifted its great, swirled rim above the horizon, shedding pale blue light where the torches did not reach. It would be several hours yet before the third moon, distant Panthera, rose in the west.

The king’s powerful voice echoed around the courtyard. “It was many seasons ago when I sent out Generals Grune and Panthro to find the fabled Book of Omens. While it remains lost, Grune has returned, with tales of adventure, great treasure,” he gestured at the ugly, crystal-studded rock towering over the cats in the courtyard, “and new lands to conquer. Today, we show him our appreciation!”

The sisters clapped along with everyone else, but when the general stepped forward, Felline’s ears shrank back.

Lepra started to giggle. “Oh, my, he’s . . .”

_“Huge,”_ Felline finished, awed.

General Grune was a brown sabertoothed cat even bigger than Claudus, each ear a tattered mess under his steel, spike-topped cap. One fang as long as Felline’s forearm protruded from between his dark lips to hang over his beard. The other fang, she could only guess, had broken off sometime in the past. General Grune did not smile as cheers erupted from the watching crowd. He bowed slightly, one fist over his heart. She wondered, idly, what had happened to the other, the one named Panthro.

“There are the princes,” Lepra said.

Felline’s ears pricked forward. She had been so mesmerized by the king and his surviving general that she hadn’t noticed the princes standing at attention to Claudus’s right.

Prince Tygra was the first tiger she’d ever seen, his fur the color of fire and banded with black. Most of his face was white. Two broad, curved, black stripes defined his cheekbones. He was a man grown, about twenty, self-assured and comfortable in the spotlight.

Prince Lion-O, next to all these impressive cats, seemed plain. He shared his father’s coloring, but he was more slender, his mane short and spiky, his jaw as clean as a kitten’s. Even from so far away, Felline could tell he was scowling.

“Wonder what’s got his fur in a bunch,” Lepra mused, and Felline giggled.

At a cue from King Claudus, the festivities opened with the music of a live band. It included a concertina, a saxophone, and a lute. Excitedly, the sisters ran off, holding hands so they wouldn’t get separated. They passed kitchen and merchant stalls, dodged squealing children and grown cats holding plates, and paused to observe some of the carnival games. Fire breathers, belly dancers, sword handlers, buskers, and bookies placing bets on the contenders for the games joyously added to the noise. The sisters kept their purses in their sashes, ever alert for dogs and pickpockets.

Felline wouldn’t go near General Grune’s thorny rock. Its crystals shone like bronze mirrors, each one bigger than she. She kept thinking of a gargantuan arachnid watching her out of its many eyes, like the legendary Queen Spidera.

“That’s disgusting,” Lepra said when Felline mentioned it to her. “Thank you so much for the nightmares I’m going to have tonight. Never mind, they have dancing!”

Luck was with them. There were so many cats partying that even Felline was asked to dance. Her partner twirled her around and around until all the watching faces became a happy blur, Lepra flashing by in a smear of gold. Felline kept her eye out for the nice guard from the bridge, the one named Bastien. Every time she saw a black-furred cat, she hoped it was him, but it never was.

“He’ll find you,” Lepra whispered in her ear, squeezing her fingers sympathetically.

“Not before every man in Thundera finds you first,” Felline groused.

Lepra looked pained. Felline was immediately sorry for her thoughtlessness, but she couldn’t help it. Every couple of minutes, without fail, some swain approached – stuttering, blushing, suave, or cocky – and requested a favor from her sister, one of the small, handmade badges handmade which ladies could then pin on their favorites. Each time this happened, Lepra apologized for not having any favors on her, and she would make sure he could see her ring, and away he would slink like a beaten dog. Not one of them looked twice at petite Felline.

“Why are you wearing that tonight?” she asked at last, worried for her sister.

Lepra glanced at the ring. Her eyes never strayed far from it. “As long as Father doesn’t see it, I don’t see why it shouldn’t fulfill its purpose.”

Felline could think of no argument against that, but her anxiety deepened like the floor of a lake, plunging unseen into the depths.

When the music ended and cats began moving toward the stadium for the games, Felline resignedly thanked her last partner. She wanted to stay on the dance floor, to hold on to the glorious memory of this night as long as she could. However, the flow of the crowd gave her no choice; the sisters went where it willed.

Before they’d gone far, Lepra gave a sudden gasp. “Felline, your earring!”

Felline’s hands flew to her ears. Sure enough, one was bare.

“Oh, no,” she moaned. She scanned the ground at her feet. There were so many cats, bumping into her, tromping across the ground. How was she going to find it in all this confusion?

“Excuse us, please. Sorry – excuse us . . .” Lepra clamped her fingers on Felline’s wrist, holding steady against the tide.

“It’s probably on the dance floor,” Felline managed to shout.

Lepra nodded. Grimly, she towed her little sister out of the worst of the crowd, but no matter how hard they looked in the flickering lamplight, they couldn’t find the earring.

“Why did you wear it, tonight of all nights?” Lepra demanded. “You were asking to lose it!”

Felline’s ears drooped. The truth was, she hadn’t thought about it. Now it was lost. “Let’s just go,” she said dully.

She turned and promptly ran face first into someone’s tunic. “Excuse me!” she gasped. Then she looked up. “Bastien!”

“Hi,” Bastien said, grinning. Without his helm, he turned out to have a black mane, brushed behind his pointed ears, where it stuck up in the back like an avian’s tail feathers. He held out his hand, palm up. “Is this what you were looking for?”

“My earring!” Felline snatched it from him and examined it. It was indeed hers, and miraculously still in one piece.

“How did you know my sister was looking for her earring?” Lepra asked. She put her hands on her hips as she regarded Bastien through narrowed amber eyes.

“I’ve been tailing you for a while,” Bastien said. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m afraid I’m not a good dancer. I followed you from over there and overheard you talking about it. It was coincidence that I saw the earring first. Name’s Bastien.” He did not offer her his hand.

“I’m Felline’s sister, Lepra.” She made an effort to smile. “Nice to meet you.”

He nodded. “Likewise.”

“Thank you for finding it,” Felline said. She smiled at Bastien, too. Her best effort didn’t come close to Lepra’s worst, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“No problem. It’s your mother’s, right?”

“Yes, but how did you know?”

“I, ah, might have heard about the fountain incident,” he said, gaze innocently trained on the moons.

Felline sagged as the realization hit. He must know the guard that had caught her diving for coins. How utterly mortifying.

“There is something else I’d like to ask you.” Bastien scraped a clawed toe in the dirt, watching her from under his lashes. “I’m participating in the games. I was hoping you’d do me the honor of letting me wear your favor.”

Felline stared at him, lips parted. She’d never in her life been asked to bestow a favor, so she’d stopped making them years ago. “I don’t have any,” she managed at last.

He seemed to hear what she meant, that she would have given him one if she could, and brightened. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to take something else with me, then. It wouldn’t be right to ask you for that,” he indicated the earring, “so I’ll settle for this.”

Quick as lightning, he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Bastien then ran off, leaving a whole mix of feelings behind him. Several other contenders, all dressed the same in white tunics and black trousers, darted out of the crowd and surrounded him. They eyed the sisters with keen feline interest.

“Who’s she, Bast? She’s cute.”

Felline blushed, the blood rising so fast and hot it felt like she’d walked into a furnace. Someone thought she was cute! Would the bliss of this evening end?

“What about that other one? Think I could get a kiss, too?”

“The snow leopard’s awfully young, isn’t she?”

Although he didn’t look back at her, Bastien laughed, shoving the cat who had spoken last. “You think I’m a fool? Use your eyes, if you have them. That’s a lady, there.”

Another one joined in the laughter. “It’s the small ones who are the most fun, isn’t that right, Bast?”

Joking and shouting, the whole group disappeared into the stadium.

Then, from behind, a raspy voice said, “Now that is what I like to see. Well done, Felline.”

Both sisters jumped.

“Oh – Father! Hello,” Felline said, attempting to smooth her tail.

“We didn’t expect to see you tonight, Father,” Lepra added, as calm as though reading poetry for Master Korvu. She hid her left hand in the folds of her skirt. She bent down ever so slightly and planted a kiss on Snow’s spotted cheek.

Felline had to reach up on her tiptoes, but she gave him a welcome kiss on his other cheek. “Are you off duty?”

Commander Snow carried himself with military precision, his whiskers combed back neatly. Although he had removed his helm, he still wore his uniform, including a dark blue cloak that fluttered in the breeze. His fur was grayer than his younger daughter’s, salt and pepper versus stars and night sky. He was easily as wide as both of his daughters put together, his hands large enough to engulf theirs. “I have been relieved for the games. I shall escort you inside the stadium. With our best soldiers participating, I cannot allow my daughters to go unprotected. There are many alley cats about.”

“Thank you, Father.” Lepra threaded her right arm in his left. “It was kind of you to think of us.”

Some of the austerity left Snow’s grizzled face. He patted her hand where it rested lightly on his forearm. Like for their mother, Snow seemed to have a soft spot when it came to his eldest daughter.

Felline took his other arm, and he smiled at her. “You’ve done well, little one,” he said.

Puzzled, she looked up at him as they passed under an arch and into the stadium. He wasn’t outwardly affectionate with her as a general rule. They turned left, following a stream of cats up the narrow stairs. “What do you mean, Father?”

“Bastien. He’s one of mine. He’s a principled cub, if a bit lacking in discipline. Nothing that time won’t teach him.”

“Ah.” So it wasn’t anything she’d actually done, except look cute and fun enough to garner male attention. Lepra did that by simply breathing.

“He seems taken with you.”

“Father, please. I just met him today.” Uncomfortable with the subject, Felline kept her eyes on her feet.

Gloom ruled the stadium. The only light came from below, a wan blue glow that overpowered the weak moonlight from above. Snow led the way to three seats to the right of the royal box.

“I am aware of that,” he said, helping Lepra sit before taking his own seat. “I expected you to be first,” he said to her. “If you weren’t so picky, you could be married by now.”

Lepra said nothing. She lowered her head, her golden hair sliding over her shoulder to obscure her face. For a moment, Felline could believe it was her mother sitting there.

“Leave Lep alone, Father,” she said. She took her seat between them. A small, cautious sniff of the air near Snow’s shoulder confirmed her suspicion. He may hide it beneath a polished and noble exterior, but the most trivial thing could trigger his temper in this state. “You’ve been drinking.”

“If I have, it’s none of your business.” Snow glared at her. “You’d better not nag that cub, understand? I don’t want to hear you’ve chased him off. You may not attract another one.”

A few of the cats near them smirked, scenting a different sort of show than the games promised. Felline repressed a sigh. Snow did this every now and again. He would drink, and then he would say cruel things. If they dared to protest, he would chide them for their oversensitivity. In the past, she’d excused his behavior, attributing it to the state her mother had left him in, but for him to behave like this, in front of all these cats, and in uniform! Ashamed of her father, Felline summoned every ounce of will she possessed and sat as tall as she could.

“I hope you waited until you went off duty before you started, and that’s all I’m going to say about it,” she snapped. She refused to acknowledge his presence after that, instead fixing her gaze on the royal box, five tiers above her head.

A sculpture of a stylized lion’s head protruded from the stone wall below the balcony, frozen forever mid-roar. The balcony itself was lit within by torches, rosy and warm. Felline couldn’t see its occupants until King Claudus stood to address the audience.

His speeches were short, she was learning. Concise.

“These games are dedicated to the life of an outstanding general and loyal friend,” he boomed, “who gave all he had in the name of Thundera.” Claudus raised his goblet. “To Panthro!”

“To Panthro!” four voices chorused from the box.

The crowds in the stands erupted in cheers, this time to honor their king’s fallen friend. Trumpets added their brassy voices in fanfare and then stilled. Amid a rumble of talk and last-minute bets, the crowd settled down expectantly.

Felline gazed across the stadium. Banners bearing the Eye of Thundera hung at intervals along the top. Four palace guards positioned themselves midway down the walls, at the cardinal compass points. At the bottom, a blue pool produced the strange fairy light. Growing from the pool, a twisted, gnarled tree sent branches clawing for the sky. Each branch was wide enough for four mountsmen to ride abreast. Its leafless limbs were dull crimson. From the highest, a bell depended. Viewed from her spot high in the stands, both tree and bell seemed small to Felline, though she knew that the bell alone could hold several cats inside.

Two contenders in white tunics walked onto the sands and jumped across the water to one of the lower branches, where they waited for the trumpet blast signaling the start of the match. The goal: To reach and ring the bell first. It was a test of skill and strategy, qualities prized in Thundera. Felline watched as cat after cat was thrown, kicked, or simply shaken off the tree to splash into the pool so far below. And the bell rang. And rang. And rang.

When Bastien’s turn came, he was pitted against an older, bigger cat, but he never let his opponent touch him. Nimble as a chib-chib, he sprang from limb to limb, once using all four sets of claws to hang upside-down from a branch. When the other cat leaped for him, Bastien swung out his legs and sank his heels into the other’s belly as he passed overhead. Still swinging with their combined momentum, Bastien helped the other cat find the pool and then made his leisurely way to the bell amid a storm of laughter from the stands. He raised one arm in cocky victory, rotating on the spot, acknowledging their praise. Felline wondered if he was looking for her. Lepra seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for she squeezed her sister’s fingers with a smile.

On her other side, her father shifted as if waking from a snooze.

“What’s this?” Snow sat forward, his drink-reddened, glacier-blue eyes fixed on the entrance to the back concourse. Two figures emerged, dressed in royal blue. By the stripes in his orange mane, Felline recognized Prince Tygra. That meant the smaller redhead was Prince Lion-O.

After a heartbeat of uncomprehending silence, the audience lost its collective head. Their cheers drowned out the trumpet blast signaling the start of the match.

Lion-O was first off the mark. Using his hands as well as his feet, he sailed up the largest branch, making it look effortless as he snaked along its curves. Tygra didn’t let him get far, however; the bigger cat jumped for his brother, grinning like a fiend.

With a twist of his lower body, fingers sunk deep in the bark of the tree, Lion-O aimed a snap kick at Tygra’s head.

Unflinching, Tygra stopped Lion-O’s foot with one hand and kept coming, landing a solid punch to the younger prince’s jaw that jarred him loose. Amid deafening cheers and groans, Lion-O fell. He bounced once before he flipped and landed on all fours. His claws raked deep furrows in wood. Furiously, he flung himself back up the tree, gaining on his laughing brother. He kicked and swung at the older prince while they ran, connecting once with Tygra’s temple. Like a compressed spring, Tygra struck back and knocked Lion-O off the branch again. Sitting with her hands pressed over her mouth, Felline fancied she could hear their snarls and growls over the screaming crowd.

“Hotheaded fool. It’s done,” Snow said, sounding bored. He put his ankle on his thigh and sat back, apparently ready to resume his nap.

“It is?” Felline watched as Tygra gained the highest branch and stood there, feet wide.

“When it comes to everything except the crown,” he taunted, his pleasant voice cutting through those of his fans, “you’re always going to be second place!”

Lion-O didn’t bother to respond, but made one last, desperate dash – not for the bell, as Felline would have done, but for his brother. Who was waiting for him. Tygra didn’t pull his punch. When Lion-O began to fall, he had nothing but air between him and failure.

The crowd gasped as one and then went dead silent. All could hear the splash as the crown prince hit the glowing water headfirst.

Seconds passed. Lion-O shrank to a dark blot in the rippling pool, small and distorted. All around the stadium, whispers broke out like little hissing campfires.

“Is he going to come up?” Lepra murmured.

Felline’s heart pounded against her ribcage. The blot moved and expanded. “Yes, here he comes.”

Lion-O surfaced to Tygra ringing the bell and the renewed shrieks of the audience.

“When are you gonna learn, little brother?” Tygra bellowed from atop the swinging bell, one hand on his hip, the other holding the bell’s chain. Not once had he lost his grin.

Below, Lion-O treaded water, his short mane plastered to his head. Though she couldn’t see his face clearly, Felline thought he looked defeated in an entirely different way.

Tygra’s victory marked the end of the games.

“They’re competitive, the princes,” Snow explained as he herded his daughters down the stadium steps, his broad shoulders protecting them from the worst of the crush. Sounding much more sober after his nap, he refastened his cloak and smoothed his whiskers. “I had better return. Prince Lion-O is known for wandering off.”

Felline didn’t want to admit it, but he took a great weight with him when he left. She loved her father. She owed everything she had to him. Even Lepra. She wouldn’t allow herself to feel shame for his shortcomings. And if cats were avians, they would fly.

“I’m hungry. Want to get something to eat?” Felline asked.

“What about Bastien? Don’t you want to wait for him?” Lepra asked.

Felline drew a breath of cold night air through her nose. Tilting her head back, she held up her hands, white as the Cheshire moon. “I’m sure he’ll find me if he wants to see me,” she said. “I’m not exactly hard to spot in a crowd.”

She wouldn’t say it out loud, but she really hoped he would come find her. Her head was full of him. How they’d met, the things he’d said. The kiss. With his friends, he’d seemed different, and they’d scared her a little. She wanted it to be just Bastien and Felline one more time, so she could recapture some of that thrill and pleasure of the afternoon on the bridge.

The Panthera moon rose, floating across the moon Leo’s swirled face. Bastien never showed.

Lepra spotted Felline yawning and suggested they go home. Disappointed, she agreed, but she balked when it came to passing by the crystal-studded rock, which was roughly the size of their house, and insisted they go around. They found their way blocked by a large croud of cats. The courtyard flirted with full dark here, outside the ring of torches. No one was dancing. No one was even moving.

“What’s going on?” Lepra wondered aloud.

“I have no idea,” Felline said. She couldn’t see over the shoulders of the cats in front of her. With a grunt, she hunched down instead, peering through their legs. “Oh, no. We can’t get through. It’s the stocks.”

“Here?” Lepra scrunched up her nose. “Why on Third Earth did they bring lizards up here?”

Felline understood the fear that laced her voice. The lizards were the cats’ greatest enemy, after all.

“Shh,” Felline cautioned her sister. Her ears swiveled, picking up on the angry voices in the center of the crescent of cats (“Yah! Get out of here!”). She heard something else, too. The breathless _fwoosh_ of fire in the wind. Only there was no wind.

“Watch out!” Lepra exclaimed.

The cats in front of her suddenly backed up, knocking Felline down. Through a break in their legs, she could see a pair of men at the front. They waved burning torches dangerously close to the imprisoned lizards, who hissed with the strange, dry rasps of reptiles. Something that looked horribly like blood was dried into their scales – by the skins smashed on the ground, it was tomato. One lizard, blue and white, closed bulbous yellow eyes. The boards clamped around his neck and wrists prevented his escape from the flames. He jerked back, again and again, the frill of fins along his jaw catching on the boards. The man with the torch snarled with each stabbing pass as if he wanted to hit the lizard with it but didn’t quite have the guts to do it.

Lepra hurried to help Felline stand before she got trampled. Felline clung to her gratefully. They were in the thick of the mess now, buffeted on all sides by what was quickly becoming a mob. Frantic, Felline flicked her gaze from face to face, but she found no one to help: No game contenders in their white tunics, no palace guards in blue. Where was Bastien, or her father? Shouldn’t someone have been watching the lizards? These men and their scrawny women weren’t even nobles. They were a bunch of scummy alley cats.

Then, a lean, muscled figure sprinted past her, so close he almost bumped into her.

Prince Lion-O burst out of the crowd and held out his arms to shield the lizards from the cats. Up close, he was surprisingly pretty for a lion, with his subtle honey-gold facial markings and cream-colored hands. He wore a stubborn tilt to his mouth reminiscent of teenagers everywhere. The coin hadn’t done him justice.

“These lizards have done us no harm,” he called. He spoke in a clear tenor. The flames picked out green highlights in his dark blue eyes. “They don’t deserve this!”

“You’re right, Prince Lion-O,” an alley cat answered, his thick, guttural voice making Felline flatten her ears. He pointed a claw in accusation. “These barbarians deserve death!”

Every man there howled in agreement, lifting clubs and torches. The women added their anxious voices, too. Felline bared her fangs in disgust. Whether at them or at the stench of lizard, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that this was bad.

Lion-O didn’t budge, although his eyes betrayed his misgivings. “I’m not gonna let anyone lay a hand on them!” he said.

“Move, lizard lover!” the alley cat growled. He swung his torch without hesitation as if it wasn’t the brains of the crown prince he was trying to splatter across the courtyard.

Lion-O ducked the first swing, lost his balance at the second, and ended up on his backside for the third.

The cat leered at the downed prince. “Or you’ll wind up in those stocks yourself!” he finished triumphantly.

_“Yeah!”_ the mob screamed at his back.

Felline whimpered. Lepra was apparently too sickly fascinated by what was happening to attend to her. Felline shook her head, trying to make the world fall back into a pattern of reason. This was crazy. It made absolutely no sense. Why was the heir to Thundera’s throne risking his life for lizards? No cat in his right mind would do that. It was a betrayal of everything they believed.

Just then, Prince Tygra entered the fray. He must have been nearby all along, perhaps keeping an eye on his younger brother. He grabbed the mob leader by the shoulder and pushed. He was even stronger than he looked. The stocky cat landed with an _oof._ The torch flew out of his hand and bounced on the cobbles, spewing sparks into the crowd. Felline wrinkled her nose at the familiar odor of alcohol that puffed off his clothes.

Tygra grinned, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in his brown eyes. “You better be very sure you want to do this,” he said to the crowd, standing next to his brother, “because I’ve got his back.”

Lion-O didn’t look particularly grateful or relieved to have his grinning bigger brother at his side, but he didn’t tell Tygra to go away, either.

The alley cat, who must have been three sheets to the wind, laughed deep in his throat and got to his feet. “All of us against you two?” he queried, testosterone leaking from every pore. Or maybe that was just booze.

Then _she_ came. For a split second, Felline thought Lepra had somehow jumped into the fight, but that couldn’t be – her sister had her in a death grip. Besides, the sun-yellow woman in skin-tight black shorts and halter top standing in front of the stunned princes was a cheetah, not a leopard. She held out her hand. A bo staff extended from her fist like magic.

“Make that three,” she said in a clear, high voice. Her sunset-orange eyes dared the alley cats to make the first move.

Felline couldn’t hear what anyone said next, for, with a smirk, Prince Tygra unhooked a three-tailed bola whip from his belt and lashed the cobblestones in front of the mob. Sparks flew from the sharp, cut-ruby tips. Everyone jumped back, the leopard sisters with them.

Someone off to their left shouted, “Let’s teach ‘em a lesson!”

The crowd gave a heave and then all degenerated into noise and confusion. Felline threw up her arms to shield her face, but she couldn’t fend off all of the elbows, fists, and impromptu weapons whizzing about. She fell with a snarl of pain.

Tucking herself into a tight ball, she rolled. She felt her gown catch and tear, jerking her back. She sprawled across the cobbles. Panicked, she called out for her sister, but all she could see were the royals taking out the alley cats with relative ease.

Prince Tygra’s whip was apparently magical, too. With a flicker of lightning, he used it to vanish and reappear on the other side of the fight. He planted his white fist in a cat’s face and sent the cat flying with a kitten’s surprised mew.

“Try and catch me!” the cheetah woman shouted. In a blur of sun-yellow, she dashed past her opponents with blinding speed and batted a whole circle of them flat with her staff. Her long-lashed eyes were calculating in her lovely face, masked with pale orange, upswept markings, her hair a wild mane of sable-spotted dandelion. Awed, Felline stared at her. Jealousy scrabbled at her insides, her sister for the moment forgotten.

This woman knew martial arts. She could fight. Someone had thought her worth training.

And if _she_ was worth it, then . . .

Prince Lion-O was closest to Felline. Fighting only with his fists, he was slower than the others. Still sore from the beating his brother had given him in the games, most likely, but he had been trained well. He managed to take down one alley stray and lifted another by his tunic, ready to knock him senseless.

A deep, resonant voice shot across the courtyard.

_“Lion-O!”_

Guiltily, every cat on the scene froze.

Lion-O tossed his opponent aside, his expression stony. An overwhelming desire to run into her sister’s arms stole over Felline. Though she could see Lepra standing unharmed just a few feet away, she didn’t dare move and draw attention to herself.

King Claudus strode into the moonlight, cloak fluttering. General Grune appeared behind him, flanked by Commander Snow and another palace guard that Felline didn’t know.

“What is going on here?” Claudus demanded in the universally irritated tone of fathers since time immemorial. “Protecting lizards?”

“No,” Lion-O said with solemn intensity. He held out a hand, indicating the two slaves behind him. “I’m protecting us from turning into the very coldblooded creatures we fear.”

At that, the lizards raised their heads, tooth-filled jaws falling open with something like dismay, or disbelief.

“These lizards did nothing and should be released,” Lion-O finished in a rush. He fixed his blue eyes on his father’s. The lizards’ eyes nearly bugged out of their skulls.

Claudus’s own eyes widened. He threw back his head as if his son had slapped him. The torchlight revealed the scar across his broad, flat nose, the fur around the puckered skin laying the wrong way. “Release them?” he breathed. “Don’t be foolish. As Lord of the ThunderCats, it is my duty to keep our people safe, and one day it will be yours.”

“You wanted me to start acting like a king,” Lion-O countered, frowning. “Well, this is it. And I don’t think the only way to rule is with a sword. Maybe we’d have less trouble with the lizards if we weren’t always oppressing them.”

No one dared to breathe, especially not Felline. What was Prince Lion-O saying?

In the stocks, the lizards trembled, fear and hope etched into their alien faces.

Scowling, King Claudus closed his eyes. He nodded – a command.

Snow and the other guard moved forward. They used their halberds to separate the two halves of the stocks. Under cover of the restlessly shifting (and in some cases, escaping) cats, Felline ghosted over to Lepra, hugging her around the waist as she used to hug her mother when she’d had a nightmare. Although Lepra’s arms encircled her reassuringly, Lepra’s heart beat too fast under Felline’s ear.

When the lizards uncertainly stood upright on their hind legs, Felline could see how big they actually were, their tails as long as they were tall, their heads and jaws large enough to bite a cat in half. Not that these lizards had done anything of the sort. They were emaciated and weak. Pathetic, even pitiful. They came stiffly forward, dressed only in leather short-pants, reaching for each other. Before they could reunite, however, Snow whacked the blue one with the butt of his halberd, and the other palace guard kicked at the green one and roughly said, “Get out of here.”

The lizards did not need to be told twice. Dignity long since denied them, they ran. The remaining cats watched them go, clearly unhappy and confused by this turn of events.

His face dark as a thundercloud, Grune leaned forward and rumbled, “My Lord.”

“Consider this an act of goodwill between the species,” Claudus said imperiously, ignoring him. Then, still glowering, he walked up to his son and stared down at him. “Perhaps now you might show some goodwill of your own, and take your responsibilities as prince more seriously.”

Back straight, Lion-O nodded. Claudus walked away.

Snow, following his lord, apparently noticed his daughters for the first time, standing on the fringes of the erstwhile mob. His eyes widened, fury making his whiskers bristle. Still reeling from the late hour and all that had transpired, Felline looked down.

Lepra’s left hand was on her shoulder, her ring in plain sight.


	3. Chapter Three

"Go home,” was all he said. “I will deal with you later.”

The night passed badly for the sisters, who waited for a dawn that didn’t seem to want to appear. When Snow finally came home, bleary-eyed and ragged after the night’s duties and festivities, the first thing he did was summon his daughters.

Then he dismissed the servants for the day. All of them.

“I cannot express the shame you have brought me, Lepra,” he began. He spoke in a growl, low and deadly. “You have defied my wishes, taken all of my work, and thrown it in my face. While I was on the lookout for a good home for you, you went behind my back and formed this clandestine alliance. You have proven yourself a tramp in the eyes of Thundera –”

“Father, that’s too much,” Felline cried, stung on her sister’s behalf. “Lep would never break honor like that.”

“Silence!” Snow snapped, and Felline choked back her words. “You have kept this secret for her! You have betrayed me. I have nothing to say to you.”

It was incredible how much words could hurt. Felline stared at the floor, tears welling up in her eyes, wishing she could be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

“Whose is it, Lepra?” Snow’s hands fisted at his sides, his blue eyes as cold and unforgiving as a glacier. “Who gave you that ring?”

Lepra’s eyes were overly bright, but she kept her head up and spoke with the respect due to her father. “Rachan.”

A flush worked its way up his face, mottled by his fur. Spitting a curse, he slapped Lepra hard enough to knock her off her feet. “Never!” he hissed.

Shocked by the sudden violence, Felline screamed. Lepra didn’t make a sound, but she didn’t get up, either. She lay on the rug, her long legs twisted in her skirt, her face hidden by her golden hair. What was wrong with Father? The cruel, cutting words, the insults, the edicts. Felline expected these things. Physical violence? He had never gone this far before.

Felline didn’t think, she acted. She launched herself at him, latching onto one thick arm. Then she yanked on it, pulling him away from Lepra.

She had never dared do such a thing before. She could see the reason leave her father’s face. She started shouting as if volume alone could save them, pleading with him to stop, telling him she was sorry, that Lepra was sorry, that they wouldn’t disobey him again. She shouted a lot of things. He heard none of them.

Snow, so much stronger, grasped her by the neck, ripped her off, and flung her from him. She was so little that she flew across the room. When she came down, she crashed into the coffee table. It didn’t break, but she swept off the books and a figurine as she went sliding over it, scattering loose pages and porcelain shards across the hardwood floor. Felline lay dazed against the sofa.

Lepra struggled with Snow. He held one slim wrist in an iron grip; she pushed at him with her free hand. Eyes blazing, he wrenched the ring off her finger, possibly breaking the delicate bones in the process, judging by the high-pitched scream that escaped her. Then he stomped into the kitchen, dragging Lepra along with him. While she cried and pleaded with him, he chucked the ring into the sink and furiously worked the pump, sending a gush of water in as well. The tiny ring vanished in seconds.

“How could you?” Lepra shrieked, beside herself.

“You will not see that man again!” Snow yelled.

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Shut up!” Snow hit her again. The sound sickened Felline, wet and thick. “Shut your mouth!”

Felline felt like the world had opened up beneath her, sucking her down a deep, dark hole, where a copy of her father capable of hurting his own daughters used to lurk, awaiting his chance at freedom. She didn’t understand where all this was coming from. She hadn’t thought this much evil existed in one place. She wished she had remained ignorant.

“Please, stop!” she begged. Tears pouring down her face, she attacked her father from the side, small fists pounding. Snow swatted her aside. She collided with the pantry door.

“I’ll run away,” Lepra said through the blood in her mouth. Wild hatred filled her amber eyes. Her voice was so quiet that it was worse than a shout. “I’ll leave. You can’t stop me.”

“Can’t I?” Snow breathed, just as quietly.

Before Felline realized the danger she was in, Snow seized her arm. She yelped as tendons ground against each other. Then, both sisters shouting through their tears, Snow hauled them down the hall and up the stairs to the second floor. He heaved Lepra through her bedroom door. Felline could hear something splinter and Lepra’s gasp of pain before Snow slammed the door shut and locked it.

“Father – no –”

That was all Felline managed to say. Snow picked her up and deposited her bodily in her own room. With a frame-shuddering bang, he imprisoned her inside.

Lepra wasn’t defeated yet. “This is why Mother left! I saw what you did to her that night! I saw you!”

“She was my wife!” Snow roared. “I wasn’t about to allow that alley cat to touch my wife!”

“No husband would ever put his needs in front of his family’s!”

“My needs? I gave her everything she wanted!”

“Not love!”

“Love?” Snow must have hit the wall. The entire house rattled in response. A picture fell off Felline’s wall and struck the floor hard enough to break the glass. “She never loved me. She lied to me!”

“She was only protecting herself, you monster!” By the sound of it, Lepra was trying to kick her own door out, her claws scraping against the grain.

At that, Snow started laughing. Lepra ceased her attack on the door. His horrible, grating laugh sounded like something Felline imagined coming from a lizard. She covered her ears with her arms.

“Yes, Lepra, only protecting herself,” Snow said. “I notice she didn’t bother to take you with her. Think about that.”

His heavy footsteps receded down the hall, down the stairs. The front door slammed.

The house rang with silence for a minute or two, and then the well of grief overflowed. Lepra’s ragged sobs stabbed at Felline. A long time passed before she could control her own.

Was it true? Had their father really been such a monster? What did that say about their mother? She’d left them, there was no denying that – but had she left them to live with another man? To start another family?

To replace the daughters that reminded her too much of her tormentor?

Panting, Felline lay on her floor. She scrubbed her hands over her wet cheeks. Her side throbbed where she’d hit the table, her shoulder from the pantry door, her arm from her father’s fingers. She looked around, reacquainting herself with her belongings. She was safe here. Safe.

On the rug, something golden and shiny twinkled at her. Her earring. It had come out again.

_She was only protecting herself._

_Make a gift of them and then she couldn’t be accused of throwing them away._

A fresh sob bubbled out of Felline’s throat. She plucked the other earring out and threw it as hard as she could, as if she could get rid of the dirty feelings threatening to smother her along with it.

Why was she so blind? Lepra had been right about the earrings, Mother, about all of it, while Felline had clung childishly to an idea. To a lie.

After a while, she calmed enough to get up. She tried her door. Locked.

“Lep?” she called tremulously, nose to the crack. “Can you get out?”

Although she listened with both of her ears pricked forward, she heard no answer.

“Lepra? Are you okay?”

“Leave me alone,” Lepra said, her voice muted.

Three words, and they cut right to the heart. Felline backed away from the door as if it had burned her, tears prickling at her sinuses. “What did I do?” she whispered. No answer.

Listless, Felline lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She was not hungry, although she drank some of the water in her ewer as the summer sun filled her room with syrupy heat. The quiet house drowsed in the afternoon heat, strangely empty.

Her thoughts wandered in irregular circles. From Bastien to the kiss on her cheek, from the games to the princes, from Lion-O to her father. How backward, she thought darkly, for the prince to look at a lizard and see a victim, while her father could abuse her and her sister like this right here in Thundera. Being a cat apparently meant much less to the prince than being a reptile.

She wondered if Snow would let her see Bastien again, or if he meant to keep her locked in here forever.

Felline rolled onto her side, half asleep. She listened to the nothing happening in the house until she heard the brush of wood on wood.

Lepra had opened her window.

She may have been able to move in complete silence, but even she couldn’t hide the squeak of shutter hinges from Felline’s sensitive ears.

Swinging her feet to the floor, Felline stared at her door, expecting it to open. It didn’t, and now all she could hear was the breeze in the trees outside.

It didn’t take a genius to guess where Lepra had gone. Second story or not, she was headed for the stables and the warm, pungent comfort of Lightning’s sandy stall.

Well, fine. If that was how her sister wanted to be, then fine. Felline hadn’t done anything to deserve this.

She washed her face and changed her gown. She sat at her vanity, brushing the wintry curls of her hair, scowling at herself in the mirror. How long would it be before her father came back home? What would the servants think when they came to work tomorrow to find the mess downstairs, Felline locked in her room, and Lepra sleeping with the mounts? Did he care?

Lost in her thoughts, it was some time before she became aware of a new noise. The first time it happened, she wasn’t sure she’d actually heard it. Her hairbrush stilled, one ear canted toward the window.

It happened again. _Clink._

She crept to the window. _Clink. Clink._ She stared down through the glass. A shadowy figure waved at her.

“Bastien?” Cautiously, she opened the sash and leaned out. It really was him, standing in the street below, dropping a handful of pebbles into the bushes. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey,” Bastien called in a half whisper, flashing a white grin. “I wanted to see you.”

“You don’t have to be quiet, no one’s here,” she said.

“Yeah, about that.” He scrubbed a hand through his sooty hair, gray eyes apologetic. “Rumor has it you’re under house arrest. I came to break you out.”

Felline deliberated for perhaps two seconds. If she went with Bastien, she’d be abandoning Lepra. Then again, Lepra had already chosen her mount over her sister. If Snow came home and found both daughters missing, things would get a little unpleasant around the house, but Bastien had come all the way here for her, without being asked. That meant he liked her, right? Just like she liked him?

“Don’t you want to go on a date with me?” He grinned.

“I’ll be right down,” she said. Heart pounding, she gathered her skirt in her fist and levered herself out of the window. Toes and fingers rigid, she swung her way down the side of the house, claws digging into the soft, stucco façade. She’d never done anything like this before, though she assumed this must have been how Lepra and Rachan used to meet. It thrilled her, going behind her family’s back to meet a boy. Giggling as she disentangled herself from the bushes at the base of the house, she trotted into the street and took Bastien’s outstretched hand.

..::~*~::..

“Prince Lion-O doesn’t take his position as heir to the crown seriously,” Bastien said. His curiosity knew no bounds; once he found out she’d witnessed the scene in the courtyard the night before, he’d peppered her with a hundred questions. However, he finished by saying he was hungry, and then he moved on to politics. “Pardoning those lizards is just another example of how little he cares for his birthright.”

Felline accepted the skewer of meat he handed her, fresh off the stall. “You’re a palace guard. Are you sure you should be talking like that?” she asked, askance.

“I’m not on duty,” he replied cheerfully. He bit into his skewer. “Besides, I’m not the only one. Everyone thinks Prince Tygra should be king.”

Thoughtfully, Felline took a bite of steaming, spiced meat. She’d heard that before, of course. Who hadn’t? It was rumored that Claudus favored his elder son, but the Sword of Omens would pass to Lion-O due to his direct bloodline to Leo, the first Lord of the ThunderCats. Lions ruled Thundera, not tigers, no matter how unsuited to the throne the lions may be. Still, the clear-eyed prince she’d seen last night had stood up to his father and king. His beliefs were what would lead the cats in the future. At least he’d seemed willing to fight for them, even if his beliefs were wrong.

Putting Lion-O aside, who had that woman been? Felline had asked Bastien about her, but he didn’t know. He’d never seen her before.

“I wonder if Prince Tygra agreed with defending the lizards, or if he was simply there to protect his brother,” she mused.

“No cat in his right mind would defend one of those barbarians,” Bastien said.

“No,” she agreed softly. It made her wonder, though. It made her wonder very much.

“Come on,” Bastien said once they’d finished eating. “Let’s go make a wish.”

After throwing away the empty skewers, he took her hand, smiling down at her. She liked the feel of his fingers, long and strong and entwined with hers, black against white. He kept glancing at her as they walked through the crowds, grinning when she caught him at it.

Talking more than attending to their surroundings, they strolled to the square and the big, white fountain. The late hour prompted most cats to redirect their steps for home. In the west, the setting sun packed away the blue from the sky, replacing it with fiery pinks and oranges. The biggest moon, Leo, glowed purple and white, its two mismatched hurricane eyes blooming like bruises on its swirled face, its sister Cheshire nearly hidden by clouds. No one else was making wishes when more important things like supper or beds were calling. It may as well have been the two of them alone in all of Thundera.

“Ready?” Bastien held a coin on his thumb, the tip of which he’d tucked under his first finger.

Not to be outdone, Felline pulled a coin from her purse. It was the silver bob she’d stolen last week. She ran her thumb over the prince’s profile, and then put the coin back. Not that one. It already held someone’s wish. A brass shillig would do just as well.

She looked up at the biggest moon’s flat, misty disc, thinking of the king it had been named for, holding the coin toward the burbling fountain.

_I wish,_ she thought – and was startled and intensely ashamed of the desire that popped into her head. What she’d intended to wish for had to do with the palace guard with the nice face standing right next to her. What she thought of was, _I wish I never have to go home again._

“Now!” Bastien said. With a small smile, he flipped his coin into the water.

At the word, Felline reflexively tossed her coin in as well. She watched it sink with a hard, guilty knot tightening behind her breastbone.

“What did you wish for?” Bastien’s voice was low, velvety.

“Oh –” With a shaky laugh, Felline tucked her purse back in her sash. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

“I don’t mind telling you mine.”

She peeked up at him through her lashes. His pale gray eyes were steady, and he’d turned so that they were no longer side by side, but facing each other. Pressure built up inside her for an entirely different reason.

“Or, maybe I should show you instead,” he murmured. He lifted his free hand, slowly, and traced one of the curved black lines down Felline’s face, pausing at the corner of her mouth. “I do want it to come true, after all.”

Who knew a kiss could be so scary? Not sure what she should do, Felline closed her eyes and held as still as possible when Bastien bent down and put his lips to hers.

Oh. That was nice. Bastien pulled back slightly, checking for Felline’s reaction. When she leaned closer, he flashed a grin and then kissed her again. More than just a press of lips this time. He brushed back her hair, gently flattened one of her ears. Felline was just getting into it when the most awful sound, like the roar of a giant, came from the direction of the plains.

They both jumped, her tail puffing up to twice its size, his arms suddenly constricting, pinning her to him.

“Bastien,” she squeaked, face flaming. The giant roared a second time, urgent, demanding. Her claws extended in response.

“Sorry.” He put her down, his expression a mix of regret and fear.

“What is that?” she asked, frightened without knowing why.

“That’s the Keep horn. General Lynx-O’s on duty tonight,” Bastien said, referring to the only blind soldier on active duty in all of Thundera’s history. General Lynx-O had lost his sight in battle, but none of his excellent instincts during the Reptile Wars. “He wouldn’t order the alarm unless he was sure. Something bad must be coming.”

The Keep was situated a couple of miles outside the city, as tall as the blue stone head of Cat’s Lair. It had one purpose. The only reason the guards would sound the horn was – “An invasion?” she asked against the continuing bass growl of the horn.

He nodded, his mouth grim. “It must be the lizards. Old Lynx-O has a nose for them. I’d better get to the palace. Now.”

Getting there was easier said than done. Thunderians flocked out of their homes in response to the city horns taking up the cry, their anxious voices multiplying until Felline’s head ached with the noise. Parents carried cubs too small to walk, older youngsters clutched toys and siblings. Quite a few cats called out to each other, asking the same questions over and over: What was happening? Was it the lizard army? Would they breach the gates? Were any of them safe?

It was loud and disorienting on the city streets, shadowed as they were with nightfall. Felline clung to Bastien’s hand so hard she must have been hurting him, but he never complained.

“There’s a shelter up here,” he shouted down at her. “I want you to go there and wait for me.”

“Okay,” Felline said. Then she balked. “Wait! What about my sister?”

“You’ll never make it back to your place in all of this,” he pointed out. Just then, someone rammed into him from behind. A cub began to wail. Nearby, other kittens picked up the frightened squalling. “There’s a shelter in your neighborhood, right?” he shouted in her ear. “The guard on patrol will make sure she gets there.”

Felline knew he was right, but she couldn’t shake her anxiety. She should be home with Lepra right now, not out here without her.

Distant shudders, bangs, and booms told them all that the invaders were trying to bring down Thundera’s wall.

“It’s all right!” Bastien called, but not for her benefit. He was helping to corral the frightened crowd toward the shelter. “The wall has never been breached. We’re safe here. Just keep moving.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than a flaming ball crashed through a whole block of buildings a few streets over. Felline wasn’t the only one who shrieked and started to run blindly into the dark. The blast of heat from behind made her fur curl.

“Catapults!” Bastien hissed through clenched teeth, helping her along. He didn’t try to offer empty words of comfort. Methodically, more fireballs slammed down, getting closer and closer, giant feet stamping out an anthill. Gouts of debris shot upward like the water in the fountain, raining bricks and fire onto fleeing cats. Some of them buckled, knocked flat and bleeding.

Adults had begun giving in to fear, adding their caterwauls to those of their litters. The crowd picked up speed, sweeping Felline and Bastien along.

“Here,” Bastien said, handing her over to the palace guard directing traffic with his torch. Swiftly, Bastien kissed her on the lips. “I’ll be back.”

“Good luck,” she said, not knowing what else she could say. Somewhere out there, her father was already fighting, of that she was sure.

Bastien’s gray eyes lingered on her face, and then he was gone.

“Hurry! To the underground shelter!” a second pike-bearing guard shouted, waving his torch.

Night fell with indecent abruptness. Apparently, there hadn’t been time to light all of the street lamps before the attack began. The single brazier above the guard didn’t give enough illumination, and Felline missed the first step. She tumbled down five of them before she could stop herself, scraping her knee and her elbow. Her fellow Thunderians paid her no heed, rushing by in a black tide full of shining, fear-filled eyes. Painfully, she pulled herself upright by the wall.

There was no warning. Felline moved to follow her neighbors, and a trio of fireballs descended like earthbound comets. The steps exploded outward, sending Felline flying into darkness.

..::~*~::..

She came to surrounded by fire.

Dizzily, Felline opened her eyes to rubble. She was lying face down on the ground, in a puddle of syrupy, dark red blood. She watched in disoriented fascination as it poured out of a gash above her left eye. What looked like cupful after cupful just kept coming, drooling onto the cracked pavement, sparkling like liquid ruby.

“Oh, good, you’re alive,” a voice said above her.

She looked up to see an unfamiliar man, his ears poking through his hood, his fur bloodied and singed. He offered her a handkerchief, helping her press it to her forehead as he levered her upright. She thought to refuse his aid, but she quickly discovered how much her entire body hurt. She swayed on her feet.

“Hang in there, take it slow. It’s gonna swell up something awful, but you were lucky,” the man said, grabbing her before she collapsed. He swallowed. “Luck was not with them.”

All around, individual fires spread to become one big inferno. It rose in a flickering curtain. Great tangerine chunks of it blew off in the wind. The ground bucked beneath them, quaking under the lizards’ continued assault. Felline blinked against the glare, unable to pinpoint what felt so wrong to her about the fire.

Then it hit her.

Stone wouldn’t have burned.

Her savior must have seen the horrified realization on her face, for he tried to soothe her: “Don’t look now. There’s nothing to see. It’s okay, they never knew – Hey, I’ve got one!” he yelled suddenly, waving his arm.

She couldn’t hear the response over the crackling of the flames and the ongoing barrage from beyond the wall, if there was one. She and the man made their way through the destruction to a group of four other cats. A skinny tabby seemed to have taken charge.

“You can have this,” she said brusquely, shoving a hooded cloak meant for someone much bigger at Felline.

Wordless, Felline took it and put it on, sticking her ears through the holes in the hood by feel, securing it under her chin. It covered up the worst of the damage to her gown. She couldn’t seem to stop shivering despite the warm summer night and the blazing fire. Her teeth chattered like angry skirlls. She bit her lips to make them stop and tasted blood.

“We’ll head up to the palace,” the tabby said, although Felline wondered how she could talk. Her face had been laid open from temple to jaw. She also seemed to be favoring her right arm. Her fur glistened darkly.

She was worlds better off than the poor alley cat cradled between the last two. His clumsily-bandaged legs ended abruptly before the knee, and he, mercifully, was unconscious. It was possible he wouldn’t wake up ever again. Banding together, the shaken cats made to follow the lanky tabby. Except for Felline.

“I have to go home,” she said, her gaze glued to the unconscious cat.

“We’re going to the palace,” the tabby corrected, backlit by the firelight. It made a ginger halo around her head. “We’ll be safe there.”

“I have to get my sister,” Felline said.

“If she was in that, then I’m afraid she’s gone.” The tabby gestured at what used to be the shelter entrance and then heaved a sigh. “There’s no time to think about it now. We have to get moving.”

“She’s at home,” Felline said. She backed up a step, and then two. Dimly, she realized she was in shock, but she couldn’t change what she was saying or doing even if she wanted to. “I have to go get her.”

“Stop talking nonsense and come with me!” the tabby exploded. Fresh blood leaked down her neck as she made a grab at Felline.

Weirdly, it wasn’t the tabby reaching for her. It was Snow.

Felline hissed and struck, tearing five claw marks in striped fur. She sprang away as the tabby screamed. Then she ran, tail and cloak streaming out behind her. Shouts erupted. The man who had helped her yelled at her to come back.

“Leave her! She’s dead, anyway!” the tabby snarled.

Felline kept running, spurred by a thorny dread.

_Lepra._

With each jarring step, the reality of danger set in. There was no telling where the fireballs were going to land. If Felline stayed still, she might get hit. If she kept moving, she might get hit. If she turned left – _now_ – she could be running right into one, or away into safety. There was no hope, none. She shoved the fear as deep as it would go and kept her legs moving. The adrenaline zipped through her so hard and fast she never felt the cuts on her feet as she skidded across the deathscape that had once been the shopping district.

She pelted into exposed moonlight in the palace courtyard, a perversely serene place in the midst of so much chaos. Like the giant, ugly spider it reminded her of, General Grune’s crystal-studded rock crouched in the center, its yellow “eyes” watching and waiting. Felline squeezed her own eyes shut and sprinted past it. When she reached the other side of the courtyard, she heard the scrape of stone on stone and then a loud bang.

Heart clawing its way up her throat, she whirled around.

A second yellow crystal, wide as a door and twice as thick, extruded from the rock and landed with a metallic thud. A third, a fourth, too many, too fast. When the first lizard popped out one of the new holes, tail flailing for balance, Felline nearly cried out. Instead, she scrambled for the shadows and plastered herself to a wall.

She couldn’t see them anymore, but she could hear them: Their dry, scaly feet shuffling against the cobblestones, their hissing, rasping breaths.

One spoke in a sibilant accent. “It was getting a bit rank in there, General Slithe.”

“A night in that rock iss nothing compared to how long I have waited to sset foot insside the cat’ss impenetrable casstle,” another lizard answered, his voice grotesquely liquescent.

They said nothing more, but a high-pitched whine pierced Felline’s sensitive ears. It didn’t sound like anything she’d heard before. Certainly, nothing living could make that sound. More lizards cascaded out of the rock. To her horror, they approached her hiding spot, bringing the piercing sound with them. She bolted.

The only thing that saved her was that lizards were not the same class of predators as cats, who were built to stalk and chase their prey. Lizards couldn’t move as soundlessly or as fast as she could. Felline raced along the city streets, staying ahead of the army and the lizard slaves they freed along the way, as well as the strange explosions that advanced with them. They may have infiltrated the city, but she knew its avenues and streets better than they did.

Thundera was being destroyed from the inside out like a worm-eaten peach. The Thunderian army was no doubt trying to hold the wall, Bastien and her father with them, unaware of the army at their backs. How could they have known about the rock’s real purpose? What did it matter that Felline knew? There was no one to tell. Everywhere she ran, she saw cats being shot down in the street. The lizards carried exotic weapons that spat cold green fire. Her fellow Thunderians didn’t stand a chance.

If she could get home, she wouldn’t be defenseless. If she could get to Lepra, then she and her sister could help their people with their bows.

Let’s see a lizard fight with an arrow in his jugular, she thought fiercely. Hunting lizards couldn’t be much harder than hunting a chib-chib. Or so she told herself. Never mind that her aim left a lot to be desired. Fighting back would be infinitely better than lying down to die.

Felline made it unharmed and unseen to her street. She wanted to weep with relief. She could see her house up ahead. She darted out from the concealing shadows.

A flying mechanical beast ripped the sky in two, leaving a long, smoking trail across the stars. Its howl deafened her. Faster than her eyes could follow, it struck the city with the largest explosion yet, sending a cloud of orange-black curling for the moons. More of the mechanical beasts screamed by overhead. Incredibly, impossibly, they burrowed into Cat’s Lair and severed the great blue cat head from its shoulders. The head crashed to the ground in a plume of thick smoke and dirt. Felline gaped in horror at it.

The man who had saved her. The tabby she had scratched. That poor, legless alley cat . . . Had they made it to the palace? Were they now dead?

The headless corpse of the broken palace sent new waves of fear surging through her. What could stand against such power? Surely not a simple bow and arrow.

Terrified out of her wits, Felline aimed for the stables, a place of peace and comfort. She ran smack into a group of rifle-toting lizards arguing over the mounts. They’d managed to saddle them. A potbellied reptile with red-lensed goggles yanked on Blue Beauty’s reins from astride the unhappy mare. Lightning, topaz eyes rolling, reared up on his hind legs, lashing out with his forelegs. His two-toed hoof gutted one of his captors before they dragged him back down. A rope tightened around his legs, toppling him. He screamed in terror.

A lizard pressed the muzzle of his weapon against Lightning’s temple. “If it can’t be ridden, then it’s dog meat,” he rasped.

_No!_ Not slowing, Felline barreled into the lizard, but he was bigger than she. She bounced right off him. A wiry, scaled arm lashed out and captured her.

“Another slave for the mines,” he hissed. He licked the blood off her face with a slick, smooth tongue. The other lizards threw back their heads in laughter.

“She’ll make up for that other one nicely,” another commented. “Hurry up with those mounts.”

Two led Blue Beauty away, her furred tail tucked between her legs. The lizard holding Felline swung her around, barking out orders. Pressed against his strangely hot scales, she had an excellent view of the ground.

And of her sister lying in the grass.

Lepra was dead. There was no denying it. The fiery, dusty wind teased her golden hair. She wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t even bleeding anymore.

Lepra had tried to defend the mounts, that much was clear. She’d been stabbed so many times that her beautiful rosettes were indistinguishable from her blood. The scene stank of mindless, violent hate. The lizards had butchered her sister, revealing muscle and bone.

No wonder Lightning was fighting his captors. The smell of unfamiliar predators and blood must have been driving him crazy. He struggled to get to his mistress, either not understanding or not caring that she was gone. Felline wanted to throw up, or pass out, or even die, rather than see Lepra like that. The sobs tore out of her, wordless and anguished. She screamed until her throat hurt.

“What’s all this?” the lizard holding her blustered, shaking her. Then he punched her ears and set them ringing, which stopped the screams.

“Never mind, there’s the signal,” his friend rasped. From above, what looked like a miniature sun washed out the scene in sickly, bile-colored light. “There’s none but the king left.”

She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. She twisted her upper body and sank her fangs into her captor’s rounded shoulder.

Lizard blood was truly the foulest thing she’d ever tasted. With a squeal that would have made a newborn cub proud, he flung her from him. Felline hit the ground hard. She spat out a mouthful of lizard meat and drew enough breath to whistle.

At the sound, Lightning reared again, squealing. He bucked, kicked, and bit himself loose, and then careened for the street. She launched herself at his saddle as he passed. Clinging to the rein collar around his neck, she rode her sister’s stampeding mount into the burning city, knocking surprised lizards aside as they went.

“After her!” a lizard cried, but the crook-legged reptiles weren’t going to catch a Thunderian mount at a gallop. Felline gave the stallion his head. She trusted him to get them out of there alive in spite of the cold green bolts of the lizard’s alien sorcery blasting masonry apart all around them.

_I’m sorry._ She buried her face in Lightning’s stiff mane. Lepra. Blue Beauty. She’d abandoned them both. Bastien. Father. Were they dead? There was no way to know. There was nothing she could do for them. She clung to Lightning and let the tears come.

_I’m so sorry._


	4. Chapter Four

The slums were eerily silent.

Up above, Felline could hear the lizard army and the freed reptilian slaves raiding homes and shelters, the screams that ended in gunfire. Strange mechanical creatures as tall as houses that walked on two legs trundled through the burning city, herding any cats who tried to escape.

The king would never have allowed the sacking of Thundera, which could only mean that he was dead. Most likely the princes were, too. Even the legendary wizard Lord Jaga and his clerics had apparently been no match for the fairy tale – or, as Lepra had put it – the evil that was technology.

That was it, then. In just a couple of hours, the mighty Thunderian Empire had been brought to its knees, its people slaughtered and enslaved, its rich, magnificent city razed to the ground. Where on Third Earth had the lizards gathered such phenomenal power?

The night lay like spilled syrup in the alleys. Felline had no doubt that the lizards would return to the slums later, after looting the wealthier sections of Thundera. As for what had happened to the residents of the slums, who could say?

Lightning stepped carefully through the debris, his ears swiveling, alert for any danger. He seemed to have taken Felline as his personal responsibility. Perhaps it was because he could smell Lepra on her, or maybe he could smell her grief and understood in some animalistic way that it was the same as his. She lay on his back, feeling like a wrung-out dishcloth, and let him go where he wished.

However, instead of continuing on, the stallion stopped, tail swishing. He gave a questioning whicker.

“What are you doing here?” a low, gruff voice asked.

Felline raised her head. Out of the shadows, a figure emerged.

“That’s a nice mount you have,” he said. He turned dark, mournful eyes on her. “A kitten, are you? I didn’t expect to see any cats left. You’re a lucky one. Or else a smart one.”

Felline laid her ears back. A dog. What was an old hound like this one doing here in the slums, alone?

“Come on,” the dog said in his gruff whisper. “It’s time we got out of here.”

Without waiting for her assent, he reached up and took hold of Lightning’s collar, feeling his way forward with a walking staff.

“I was just gathering a few things,” he went on, leading the weary, quiescent mount up a steep path cut into the cliff face. “I couldn’t stand the thought of those lizards taking everything I have. I’ll be closing up shop and heading back to the city of dogs. You and your mount are welcome to come with me if you want. I have no grudge against cats.”

Felline didn’t say anything. There were no words inside of her.

Lepra was dead.

Felline had seen what was left of Thundera’s high white wall. As if they were of one mind, Lightning had tried to take her that way, but the reptilian army encamped on the plains blocked their path to freedom. He had shied from the piles of bodies still clothed in palace guard tunics and helms, the scattered, shattered halberds and bows.

Bastien and her father were somewhere in that mess. Her family. The boy she’d kissed. They’d left her, every single one of them. What did it matter now if this slum dog wanted to adopt an alley cat? She was as homeless as any pickpocket. It wasn’t like she had anything of value. Maybe her mount – which wasn’t even hers. Her sister’s mount, then. Her purse held the silver bob and a few copper pennies. There hadn’t been time to take anything else; she had no food, no change of clothes, no bow or arrows.

These absences defined her now. Like a reflection of Thundera, her words had died, turned to ash, and blown away.

Hefting his pack higher on his shoulders, the dog led Lightning beneath a tatty awning and into a crummy little shop carved into the cliff. He shut and locked the door behind them by feel before lighting a single lantern. Shadows leaped up and clawed for the low ceiling, mingling in the corners.

“We’re a bit out of the way up here,” he muttered, setting the lantern down, “but they won’t leave us alone for long. That lock should give us a few minutes, but no more.”

Even though Lightning and his rider filled up more than half the available space in the windowless shop, the dog puttered around, filling boxes and packs with what looked like old, broken, and rusted junk. The dog himself was thin but wiry, his old hands working deftly with coils of wire and tools she had no name for. Felline watched him dispassionately. He wore a strange bit of headgear, a loose square of cloth draped over his head that a thin bar of metal cinched across his forehead. Was the headgear a dog fashion or something he’d put together himself? She suspected the latter; some of the trash he wrapped so tenderly in canvas made her wonder about his relationship with sanity. His black nose glistened above a bushy mustache, his shaggy russet ears hanging over his shoulders like a mane.

“That should do it,” he said at last. He sniffed in her direction, apologetically. “You might have to walk from here.”

It made no difference to her. Felline swung her legs over and let herself down. It was a long way. There’d been a reason Father had given Lightning to Lepra and reserved the smaller mare for his younger daughter.

Meanwhile, the dog heaved aside a set of metal shelving and ran his blunt claws over the stone wall behind it. Coming up behind him, Felline made a face. The shop was like a cave. Was this really how animals did business in the slums? She’d thought Foret was poor, but this was something else altogether.

A growl indicated stone in motion. A section of the wall rolled ponderously out of the way. A tunnel. Probably leading outside Thundera. Not a surprise. This was a dog, after all, and a merchant. Both crafty and untrustworthy.

Still muttering to himself, the dog hooked the lantern on the tunnel wall and began loading his boxes and packs onto a handcart. He didn’t seem to care that Felline wasn’t helping, so she didn’t offer to.

“Let’s go, then, my young friend,” he said at last. After throwing a cloak around his shoulders, he attached the lantern to the top of the junk pile with a bit of string. He picked up the cart’s handles and dragged it along behind him, the lantern bouncing against a canvas tarpaulin.

Felline went with him, leading Lightning, who lowered his head and followed with a nervous curl of his tail. Behind them, the stone door rolled heavily back in place, shutting her out of Thundera forever.

..::~*~::..

The dog introduced himself as Jorma. He’d taken to calling her Fluffy because even after a few days, she wouldn’t speak. It was a dog’s name, a petcat name, and it should have offended her. It didn’t, really. Felline wondered if Jorma was the kind of lonely that manifested in talking to oneself, or if the habit stemmed from his status as a foreigner in Thundera.

She learned what all of his junk was: technology, gleaned from places far and exotic. He was fascinated with the stuff. Apparently, so was Prince Lion-O. According to Jorma, they were old friends.

“Surprisingly open-minded for a cat,” he fondly said that first bleak day. “He was always a good customer.”

By then, they’d rigged the cart to Lightning’s saddle. The stallion, unhappy but obedient, pulled the cart that bore Jorma’s livelihood and their supplies. Holding the hood of her too-big cloak closed, she gazed back the way they had come, but Thundera was lost to the purple haze of the mountains.

There was nothing left back there. Even the fires had died, their stench fading in the wind. The lizards had not wanted Thundera; they had wanted to blot it off the face of Third Earth. Without a word, she turned front again, trailing along behind the old hound, the dust of the King’s Road turning her white fur tan.

Prince Lion-O’s love of technology had not saved anyone.

..::~*~::..

“Can you hunt, Fluffy?” Jorma asked her while they made camp. He was erecting the small, one-animal shelters he called “pup tents.”

Busy building the fire pit, she nodded absently, but then she stopped in dismay. Her armful of rocks tumbled to the ground.

She’d never hunted alone before. Sure, living in a small town like Foret had given her and her sister ample opportunity to go camping and hiking in the woods nearby, so living off the land wasn’t exactly a new idea to her, but Lepra had always hunted with her.

She winced. Thinking of her twin sister sharpened an already constant pain, one that kept her cloak, doing double duty as a pillow, wet at night. Besides, she didn’t have a bow or arrows. Neither did Jorma, from the glimpses she’d caught of his technological trash. She spread her hands, asking the question she no longer had words for.

“Ah, yes, I see the problem.” Jorma never seemed fazed by much. A slow, deliberate old hound, he talked to the voices in his head as often as to her. Breaking into one of his containers, he withdrew something big and the blue of unpolished steel.

His mournful eyes sized her up beneath her borrowed cloak. “Hmm. Might be a bit heavy for you. Give it a try, anyway.”

He handed her the big blue thing.

It was heavy. And ugly. She held it across her hands, wondering what on Third Earth it could be.

“No, no, like this,” Jorma said, moving to correct her grip. He put the hollow middle of the thing in her left palm and moved her right hand to a grip of sorts that jutted out the bottom. “You’ll want to slide your finger through here. Now, hold it up.”

She did, much as she might lift a particularly fat snake. One that might bite her.

Jorma sighed and scratched behind his ear. “I put that together myself, you know. It’s perfectly safe.”

She doubted that. She didn’t protest when he relieved her of it so he could demonstrate the correct hold. Tilting it so she could see, he showed her what he called the trigger. “Now, look through here,” he said, kneeling next to her. “This is your sights. When you have the piece here near the top of the rifle centered between the two at the end of the barrel, you’ll hit what you’re aiming for.”

The hound stood back, smiling beneath his bushy mustache. He lifted the weapon, elbows out. One eye closed, he squinted through the sights and squeezed the trigger.

The rifle, or whatever it was, spat a bolt of familiar, cold green fire.

She nearly screamed when a tree at the side of the road shuddered in response, but her throat closed up before she could make a sound. A small flame flared up on the tree’s bark and then died, leaving behind a smoking black hole.

“Well!” Jorma said, pleased. “That was more impressive than I expected, but you get the idea.”

He tried to return the rifle to her.

She hissed at him, tail lashing. That wasn’t sorcery! It was technology. Forbidden. Taboo. _Evil._

“Oh, come now.” Jorma put a hand on his hip and gave a low woof. “Don’t tell me you’re still caught up in all those old and ridiculously unfounded ideas. This is progress, Fluffy. Think about it. I’m too old to chase my dinner, but if we can bring fresh meat to the market, we may be able to get you a change of clothes as well as some new supplies.”

Hearing Jorma, of all animals, call something old and ridiculous gave her pause, but he did have a point. She eyed him, warning him not to try anything funny with a flick of her tail. Slowly, she approached. Reached out. Accepted the heavy weapon.

Losing her in five seconds, he showed her the energy pack, the color-coded charge readout, the safety, and a lot of other features that sounded like a bunch of jibber-jabber. She examined the rifle – he explained that the word had to do with the markings inside the barrel that in turn had something to do with the accuracy of the shots – and, for the first time since the attack on Thundera began, a smile curved up the corners of her lips.

Sorcery. Technology. Power. Hers for the taking. With this, she would never have to feel defenseless again.

Green energy bolts flashed around their campsite well into the night. She found the rifle infinitely easier to aim than her bow, and quicker to fire. She practiced shooting trees, and then the leaves hanging from their branches, and finally the skirlls and avians hiding in the leaves. She was so exhausted by the time she crawled into her pup tent each night that she didn’t dream.

That, in itself, made her continued practice worthwhile.

..::~*~::..

Dubious, she held up her new tunic. It wasn’t part of a cat’s wardrobe, that was for sure. The cut was unfamiliar, but the dark, wine-red material was pretty enough. Jorma hadn’t done too badly choosing an outfit for a young female.

She didn’t know for what kind of animal the clothes had been tailored. A dog or a rabbit, perhaps. She and Jorma had left the King’s Road a few days ago, and the towns in this direction had little to do with cats. To make it easier for them to get rooms at the roadside inn, she’d tucked her ears into her hood, closed the cloak, and kept her face in shadow. Still, the new clothes seemed like they would fit a cat as petite as she was. With a sigh, she shucked her ruined gown and drew herself a bath.

It took several rinses to restore her fur to its natural starshine white and reveal the black rosettes along her neck, shoulder, and forearm. She gently probed the gash above her left eye, well on its way to healing into a small, puckered scar. A parting gift of Thundera, to take with her always.

Clean, she toweled dry, smoothing her fluffy tail. Fluffy. She smiled to herself, quiet gratitude for the old hound’s generosity warm in her chest. Jorma was like somebody’s grandfather, kind and forgiving. After generations of feline oppression, the lesser animals were fighting over the scraps left by the cat’s extermination. The cats had held and guarded the seat of the most fertile lands of Third Earth – but now they had nothing at all. If she wanted, Jorma would let her stay with him. Teach her more of his technology. Give her work in his shop. He was offering her an alien life, true, but a safe one.

Her hair, curling past her bottom, gave her some trouble. She pinned it up to keep it out of the way. Pensively, she put on her new underthings. She couldn’t accept Jorma’s offer. It was time for her to go home.

The short-sleeved, wine-red tunic fit snugly, defining her waist. It came with a wide leather belt she buckled around her hips. The tunic’s hem was slit in a way that allowed for her tail. She took a couple of deep breaths, lifted her shoulders and arms, twisted her torso, and decided it would do.

The pants were simple, loose, soft black material that didn’t aggravate her fur. They were probably made for a dog, then, since rabbit fur was notoriously difficult to tangle. Jorma had traded some of her skirll pelts and meat for footwear and gloves that left her claws free.

Dressed, she stood in the middle of the empty room, hands limp at her sides, and listened to the bath finish draining. She felt different. She positioned herself in front of the mirror. Turning one way and then another, she studied her reflection. Oddly, the petite, compact woman in the silvered glass reminded her of the leggy cheetah she’d seen fighting with the princes the night of the festival. This woman might be a warrior, too. In her dreams.

She tried out a fighting pose. Another. Started to giggle. She and Lepra had pretended they were clerics or mighty warrior maidens roaming the lands when they were younger. Her new outfit moved with her, stretching over newfound muscles. She grabbed her rifle, shooting imaginary enemies. The gun didn’t need years of intensive training to use effectively. If she practiced with it each day, there wouldn’t be much she couldn’t hit. She aimed at the ceiling lamp; the lock on the window; the doorknob.

Jorma almost walked into his own funeral. He opened the door and halted, paper-wrapped parcels in his arms, the rifle pointed at his canine nose.

For two seconds they stared at each other. She couldn’t decide who was more surprised. Face flaming, she closed her lips over her fangs, straightened up from her crouch, and gently put the gun on the table.

“You look ready to take on the world,” Jorma said. “Feel better, Fluffy?”

Too embarrassed to look at him, she nodded. She ran a single claw along the rifle’s barrel.

“Thunder and I are ready to go if you are,” he said, bustling around. She could hear the crackle of paper.

Jorma had named Lightning, too. She’d been so amused to hear “Thunder” that she hadn’t bothered to correct him. It was close enough. Lightning himself didn’t mind, for Jorma was the source of meaty treats, soft words, and friendly pats and scratches where his tack irritated him most.

“I’ve got enough food to last us until Dog City thanks to you,” he went on. “We should be there in three days.”

Jorma’s talk of the city of dogs sent a shard of ice through her middle. Settling her cloak around her shoulders, she followed him out of the inn, everything she wanted to say making her throat tight. They reached the stable yard, and she put a hand on his arm to stop him.

Mid-sentence, he turned his dark, mournful eyes to her.

She hesitated, drawing a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. In the end, she resorted to her crude sign language. Pointing down the road, toward the city of dogs, she shook her head, eyes prickling with a sorrow that was never far.

“What’s that? You aren’t coming with me?” For the first time since she had met him, Jorma sounded taken aback.

She shook her head again, ears drooping. This time, she pointed southwest – not quite toward Thundera, but definitely back the way they had come.

Although he wouldn’t know it, she was planning to go home. To Foret.

He glanced down the road. Back at her. “Are you sure?” he asked.

She nodded. Then, because she didn’t know how else to repay Jorma for saving her, she thrust her purse at him, heavy with extra coin. His generosity had given her a chance at survival.

“Ah, now, there’s no need for that, Fluffy,” he muttered through his mustache. “That’s yours.”

Frowning, she tried again, indicating the rifle, but he wouldn’t take the money. Still, she could see the regret in his eyes. Giving the gun away could well be a significant financial loss for him.

Then she had another idea. She tucked her purse away, swung her pack and her share of supplies on her shoulders, and approached Lightning.

Lightning. The last tie she had to her sister. She closed her eyes against her tears, held the mount’s head between her hands, and rested her forehead against his. Lightning pricked his ears forward, breathing warmth against her chest.

Jorma might keep the mount, or he might sell him. Whatever he chose to do, she knew he would take care of Lightning. Thunderian mounts were rare now. She kissed the stallion’s velvety, sky-blue nose. _Goodbye._

Then, head high, she began her journey home.

“Fluffy – wait!” Jorma called, but she didn’t slow. She raised one arm – to say thank you, to say goodbye, to wish him well.

As for her, she would seek out Rachan, to tell him what had become of the woman they’d both loved. She owed it to Lepra, and to herself.


	5. Chapter Five

Maybe the loneliness of traveling by herself had gotten to her. Maybe the blatant destruction left in the wake of the lizard army, which worsened the farther she got from the ruins of Thundera, had gotten to her. Maybe the ache Lepra’s death caused, the uncertainty as to what had happened to her father, the disappearance of her mother, all of which continued to plague her, had gotten to her. She found herself carrying the silver bob in her hand rather than her purse on her journey to Foret.

Lepra had accused her of stealing someone’s wish. Had she? By taking the coin, was she in part responsible for the empty farmhouses she passed, their windows and doors rammed inward, the burned and salted fields, the slaughtered stock left to rot by the side of the road? She played with the coin as she walked. At night, she studied Prince Lion-O’s profile as she sat in front of her campfire. Thinking of the palace guard with the nice face and the pale gray eyes, she cried herself to sleep, the coin clutched in her fist.

If Lepra had been right, if she had actually stolen a wish, then she would keep it safe now in her exile. If she did, then perhaps she could be forgiven for the selfish wish she had made.

..::~*~::..

After a few days of hunting for fresh meat so she could stockpile the dried goods Jorma had purchased, she noticed something odd about her rifle.

The bolts, which had been so bright a green they were almost white at first, were changing color. Jorma had taught her how to take the gun apart and clean the dust out of it, which wires plugged in where and which tabs clicked together to keep the casing in place (which was neither metal nor ceramic but something in between), and how to power it down when not in use, but he’d never said anything about this.

Brows drawn together, she put the rifle to her shoulder to test it. She sighted a skirll scolding her from its perch in an evergreen, and fired.

The energy bolt emerged closer to yellow than green, and it seemed slower than before. The skirll got away, chattering madly. Perplexed, she examined the weapon. On the energy pack, a square light blinked at her. Yellow, the same color as the bolt.

What on Third Earth did that mean? Green was hot, yellow was cold? Fast and slow? Good and bad? Was it some kind of setting she’d accidentally switched?

Endeavoring to shake off her unease, she finished crafting a holster for the rifle that strapped to her right leg, which kept the long gun flush against her thigh. She could draw it quickly from there, and it didn’t get in the way when she sat. Not that quickness mattered much, she reflected ruefully, for she hadn’t encountered anyone else on the rutted, rocky road.

It wasn’t until the rifle started flashing several urgent red lights, and the crimson bolts she shot seemed to crawl through the air, that she understood what was wrong.

The power pack was emptying. No, that wasn’t right. Energy and light couldn’t fill things like water did. How had Jorma phrased it? It was losing its charge.

And she had no way to recharge it.

In the strengthening morning light and increasing heat of an early autumn day, the flat prairie gradually changed into the rolling, wooded hills of her childhood. The trees got older, taller, and darker. The Rufus River spread into the valleys, diverging into streams and lakes. The closer she got to Foret, the faster her feet moved. It smelled the same, it looked the same, and when she crested the last hill before the town, she broke into an excited run.

Home. They’d be there, everyone from her childhood, unchanged in the nearly seven months she’d been gone: Mistress Chat scowling in the library; the twins, Lyn and Bob, helping their mother run the tavern; Calica teaching her new cubs to walk; the mayor; the town guards; the shopkeepers; the farmers. Had they heard what had happened to Thundera? Had they heard from her mother?

Panting from her haste, she crested the last rise and looked down on her hometown.

The wooden wall that surrounded Foret had been breached. It lay in broken, charred planks, the gate smashed and dangling from its posts. The watchtower was unmanned and roofless.

No one challenged her as she entered the town proper. Every house and shop had been broken into, their occupants either taken or killed, their possessions looted. It had happened weeks ago, by the look of things. Foret was a ghost town. Defeated, she stood in the center of the town square, where the only noises came from avians and skirlls and froogs going about their mindless business, and tried to keep from bursting into tears. There was nothing for her here.

Was Rachan with Lepra now? Had she failed in even that?

These last few days, she had been living a dream. Wasting her time. Accomplishing nothing.

Viciously, she kicked the bucket attached to the wishing well. It struck the rock wall and tumbled down to the scummy water below, its rusted chain rattling loudly enough to wake the dead.

The noise brought two amphibians blinking into the sunlight.

“What’s all the racket?” one of them gurgled sleepily, rubbing at her protruding eyes. Her arms were skinny, her legs gangly, and her middle as soft and round as a dumpling.

“It’s a cat!” the second one said, agog. His webbed hands dangled near his knees. “And here I thought Mumm-Ra had gotten the last of them.”

Surprised into motionlessness, she stared at the amphibians, whom she hadn’t seen lying in the shade on the other side of the fountain. Their mottled skin resembled dirt and moss, their loose clothing not much better. They wore hoods and belts, their ragged pants ending mid-calf. One of them licked mulch off his open eye with a long, sticky tongue, making her stomach clench in disgust.

“Hey, she’ll be worth a lot to the overseers,” the first one said, elbowing her partner. “Looks like our ship’s finally come in. Sell her, and we won’t have to keep on lookout duty for the pittance the lizards call wages.”

“That’s true,” the second answered, grinning so wide and toothless it looked like his warty face had split in two. He removed an enormous canvas sack from his belt, shaking it open. “Here, kitty. Nice kitty.”

The amphibians circled the well, one to either side. She backed up, ears flat, gaze dancing between them.

The one on her left jumped at her.

She whipped the rifle out of its holster and brought it to her shoulder, but didn’t have time to aim. Hoping for the best, she squeezed the trigger.

The rifle spat red. With a scream, the amphibian landed awkwardly at her feet, triangular face in the grass, hugging his ribs. She didn’t wait to see what else would happen; she turned tail and fled.

A wet thumping followed. She dropped to all fours, clawing her way around a sharp turn. The female amphibian sailed right over her, but her long tongue flicked out, faster than a whip. It smacked into the ground a second too late, sending a flurry of dry leaves into the air. The male sprang again, powerful legs pumping. Zigzagging to throw off their aim, she gained and scaled the wall. She dashed into the woods on the other side, the jeering amphibians leaping after her.

“We’ll get you, Snowball!”

“There’s nowhere to run, Puss!”

It was darker in the mossy trees, but noisier, too. She crept along, ears swiveling for sounds of her pursuers. Her eyes darted around the trees, noting that the hanging vines, old bark, and even the flowers resembled amphibians about to spring out at her. Hardly daring to breathe, she took to the branches above, clawing her way along much like Bastien and the other contenders had done in the games so long ago.

When she reached a bit of swampy ground near a lake, she built a hide out of a fallen log and some woodland growth. She settled on her stomach, her rifle propped on a branch, and waited.

She was willing to bet that all of the cats’ towns had been raided. The lizards weren’t risking retaliation from their warm-blooded enemies. Which meant that her options were dwindling. There was nowhere for her to go, but no reason for her to stay.

From what they’d said, she guessed the amphibians were working for the lizards, capturing surviving cats to sell as slaves. She’d heard as much from the lizards on the night of the attack. What she hadn’t heard before was the mention of Mumm-Ra.

Could it be true? The ancient being of evil was, or so she had believed, merely another fairy tale – the bogeyman that kept cubs awake at night. He was a creature unlike any other, or so the stories went. Ever-living, monstrous, a greater sorcerer than the High Cleric, Jaga.

She braced her elbows in the damp ground, though she couldn’t hold the rifle steady. After all, technology had been proven real. What if Mumm-Ra, too, was real? It seemed ridiculous. Impossible. Yet . . .

A wood thrush burst into song overhead. She peered through her leafy covering. Although the sun shone high in the sky like a king in a cloud-throne, the shadows remained thick and green, the damp earth chilly. She pulled up her hood and secured it. If the amphibians didn’t make an appearance by morning, then she would go back the way she had come, try to meet up with Jorma in the city of dogs.

The surface of the lake rippled as if a fish had come up for a bite, but when she fixed her eyes on it, she could see the slow rise of bubbles. Something big lurked there, breathing where no cat could. Soundlessly, she shifted the rifle, her eye to the sights. When the amphibian woman started to rise from the water, she squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

She jerked the gun back, staring in horror at the blank displays. No more lights. No more charge.

A large, webbed hand locked around her throat and lifted her bodily from her hide. Although she squirmed and thrashed, the amphibian held her easily, letting her wriggle like a fish on a hook.

“You’re a feisty one,” he gurgled at her, as if through water.

Her vision had gone fuzzy. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. No matter how hard she dug with her claws, she couldn’t dislodge the strong, thin fingers cutting off her air.

“Here, Spadefoot, get her in the bag.”

She felt more sticky fingers on her ankles and her struggles redoubled. Spadefoot must have been having trouble with her tail, for she grabbed it and folded it painfully to stuff her feet first into the bag. She would have screamed, but she couldn’t even open her jaws. Instead, she twisted around and sank her toe claws into Spadefoot’s dumpling belly. She felt for the soft spot below the rib cage, and then kicked with all of her strength. Hot wet cascaded over her feet. Spadefoot let go of her tail, gagging and hacking.

“Spadefoot! What have you done, cat?” the male yelled. He moved to tuck her under his arm like a rolled-up blanket, no doubt to try and help his gutted partner, but she had other ideas.

As soon as her windpipe was free, she sucked in a huge breath and let it out in an echoing yowl. She latched onto the soft yellow throat of her persecutor with her fangs, scratching at every bit of him she could reach. Her claws snagged on clothing and leather and buckles, and then she reached cold, slimy skin.

“What the – _yah!_ Get off _get off_ GET OFF!” The amphibian began a gruesome dance, frog legs flailing. He punched her repeatedly in the head while she hissed and howled, determined to slice him open like she had done to Spadefoot. They were well matched. Each blow to her skull made the world bounce and her sensitive ears ring, but the amphibian was losing blood fast. Finally, he hit her with the power of desperation, and she let go, dazed. Then, blubbering, he heaved her far over the lake.

She knew she was in trouble. The clouds in the blue sky blurred through half-shut eyes, her arms and legs limp and heavier than her rifle. With a seamless transition, she hit the water and plunged into the murky depths. She struggled, or tried to. Her body did not respond.

The water burned her sore throat as she instinctively sucked in a breath. Her lungs filled and immediately contracted, expelling the water, but her traitorous diaphragm made her inhale more. Like a runaway mount, her heart galloped in her chest and then tripped. Tripped again.

Losing her grip on reality, she never felt the small hands closing around her arms, or the difference in the water pressure as someone swam her toward the surface.

In the fresh woodland air, she vomited lake water until she felt like her lungs had turned inside out, and then heaved up more. Two small bodies plonked her onto the shore.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” bellowed a clear tenor.

With her cheek pressed into the sandy beach, she could feel more than hear the approach of many feet over her continued ragged coughing.

“You shouldn’t run off like that,” a deeper voice chided, sounding extremely put out.

“Look, Tygra!” a small voice chirped, ignoring both voices. “She’s a cat!”

“I told you we heard one,” a second small voice said smugly.

“A snow leopard. She’s half drowned,” a woman said, but a snort from overhead was the only response. With some asperity, the woman demanded, “You saw those amphibians back there. You don’t think we should have let her die, do you?”

A long pause. “No, of course not,” the tenor growled. An anxious _snyarf,_ half a word and half a mew, made him sigh.

“Hey, are you alive?” the first small voice asked in her ear.

“Can you get up?” the second queried.

Throat afire, she pushed herself up on shaky arms. Inches from her nose, two wildcat kittens stared at her with golden eyes, offering her identical grins. A cheetah – _the_ cheetah! – steadied her with a strong arm.

“It’s all right,” the cheetah said, her beautiful face both worried and curious. “You’re safe now.”

Behind the cheetah, larger than life, the princes Tygra and Lion-O glared down at her, neither one looking euphoric at her recovery.

They had survived! The princes, the cheetah-woman, they were alive! She had thought them dead. She had thought –

Felline fainted.

..::~*~::..

“Not a chance!”

“Please, Lion-O? _Please?_ We’ll take care of her. Promise!” The two young voices rose in unison, the sweet sopranos resolving into a boy’s and a girl’s.

“No! She’s not a petcat!”

“You brought Snarf along,” the girl pointed out.

“Yeah, what do you call him?” the boy accused.

“Snarf can take care of himself. You two stay here with her if you want. I’m not stopping now to babysit another one of you –”

“The sun’s going down, Lion-O.” The deep voice spoke this time, sardonic and challenging. “We’d better make camp unless you plan on bumbling around in the dark.”

“If I have to, I will,” the tenor snarled.

“Don’t be dense,” the other drawled.

“I am _king!”_

The shouting roused her. Aching all over, she opened her eyes. A tiny nose bumped her cheek, and whiskers tickled her neck; the little, red-furred, tassel-eared petcat happily said, _“Snyah,”_ when he noticed she was awake. Felline blinked at him. There used to be a bunch just like him in Foret, living in the barns, getting fat off meeces. This one had big, green eyes, off-white stockings, and the rounded tummy of a beloved companion. The stripes down his back were the yellow of softened butter. He purred encouragingly at her, scrubbing his white face against hers.

“I wonder where she came from,” the cheetah said softly, evidently unaware that Felline could hear her.

“Good question. I wonder where she got something like this,” the tiger next to her said, holding up Felline’s rifle. He peered through the sights, tried the trigger, and examined the depleted energy pack. “It’s not exactly a toy.” There was a sort of possessive admiration in his voice that Felline didn’t like.

They weren’t going to speak for her, she realized. No one but the kittens seemed to want her around, and she suspected her novelty provided enough incentive for them to go against Lion-O’s wishes. The other two cats didn’t seem to care one way or another about her.

_“No!”_ Lion-O bellowed. “Don’t do that here!”

Too late. The two wet, underfed kittens, crouched on all fours, shook themselves vigorously. After his unsuccessful leap to avoid the flying water, he snarled through clenched teeth. The fluff-tailed kittens dashed in opposite directions with a chorused, “Yikes!”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out where the twins had gotten their flashy clothes; obviously, they had enjoyed a life of pickpocketing in Thundera and had benefited from the confusion to do a little looting of their own on the way out. A baggy tunic and trousers covered the boy’s small frame in brown and yellow, while his sister wore a cropped top and dagged skirt of purple and pink, which matched her short, striped ponytail that stuck up in the back. Both kittens wore golden bangles around their wrists and upper arms.

Felline weaved to her feet and resisted the instinct to shake herself dry, too. The lakeshore gleamed in the setting sun, what she could see of the sky dominated by the Leo moon’s smoky indigo swirls. She swallowed against the soreness in her throat. She couldn’t let them leave her here, alone. She would have to plead for her place. A noble’s daughter was expected to behave in a certain way.

Fighting the dull pounding in her head, she approached her new king and sank to her knees, reaching out one trembling hand. She put her fingertips on the gauntlet attached to his belt, the golden metal warm to the touch; whether it was his body heat or some inherent magic, she couldn’t say.

The Gauntlet of Omens acted as a sheath for the fabled Sword of Omens, which only the Lord of the ThunderCats could master. The Eye of Thundera set in its hilt looked like a dormant red jewel in the last rays of the sun. Like an echo, the red jewel in the center of Lion-O’s belt flared. Each cat wore a similar jewel, smooth, round, and red, marking them as ThunderCats. Felline, in her dog’s clothing, did not, but that did not change who she was.

_I am a ThunderCat, and I swear my fealty to you._ That was what her gesture meant. She met King Lion-O’s furious gaze. His eyes were a darker, more complex blue than hers. Unwelcoming anger blazed in them. She felt very small in her oversized, waterlogged cloak.

Ruining the regal effect, water dripped from Lion-O’s chin. Both of them were shivering.

“So!” Prince Tygra said loudly, Felline’s rifle propped on his shoulder, a grin playing around his mouth. “Who’s up for building a fire?”

..::~*~::..

It was a pitiful thing, Felline realized, to not be able to thank her rescuers. Or to tell them her name.

It felt good to hear the mix of cat voices after so long, though. Words gained life inside of her for the first time in weeks, but her own voice remained locked away. It wasn’t like she had any kind of ink or parchment to write down her life story. Even if she did – these strangers, what would they care about Lepra’s death? Lepra was only one of many lost that night, and the grief of her death belonged to Felline alone. She sat drying in front of the fire, miserable and silent, as Lion-O roughly explained why she couldn’t stay with them. He seemed on edge, ready to explode at the slightest spark. She knew the feeling.

King Claudus was dead, that much she had guessed. Lion-O told her of the traitor Grune, who had sold his loyalties to technology and the nightmare that was Mumm-Ra. She could not tell him of Grune’s false treasure.

“We thought we were the only cats left,” WilyKat said with the candor of a cub.

Felline, her grief pressing hard against her sternum, nodded.

With Lord Jaga’s help, Lion-O, his brother Tygra, and the cleric Cheetara had escaped the fall of Thundera with the Sword of Omens. Jaga himself had not survived.

A cleric! Felline stared at Cheetara with new respect. No wonder she’d fought so skillfully, and that Bastien had not known her. Clerics wore long, pale cloaks and face masks whenever they emerged from their secluded clerisy compound. No one knew who they were, what they looked like, or what they did inside their walls. Cheetara was one of these elite, tasked with keeping both the king and the secrets of the Sword safe. Apparently, Mumm-Ra had attacked the city for the Sword.

“Jaga, my teacher, has asked us to seek out the Book of Omens,” Cheetara said. She wrapped herself in a nondescript brown cloak to ward off the chill of night.

“We’re on a mission to avenge my father,” Lion-O corrected her harshly.

Cheetara subsided, brows pinched. Felline suspected this had been an ongoing argument.

“Lion-O,” Tygra started, frowning at his rudeness, but his brother stood up, hands clenched.

“I won’t hear any more about it! We’re going after Mumm-Ra, and that’s final. I don’t need any more _baggage.”_

He spat the last word at the kittens and Felline before stalking out of the firelight. He stood with his muscular arms crossed, his stiff back to them. The light tunic and trousers of the festival were gone. He had outfitted himself for war in Thundera’s finest armor, breastplate and greaves and thick trousers of royal blue. He looked like a king, though he was acting like a spoiled cub.

Reclining by the fire, Tygra rolled his eyes. He was no longer dressed in royal blue, Felline noticed, but rather wore fatigues of forest green. She assumed the padded areas across his torso and legs, which seemed to consist of blocky plates in a strange, metallic material, were some kind of armor. No Thunderian smith had ever produced that in a forge; she wondered where he’d gotten it. He’d succeeded in dismantling her rifle and was now occupied in testing the clips from his own pistol in the battery slot. Naturally, they weren’t a match, and he reassembled the rifle with regret. He stood, and moved as if he was going to throw it in the lake.

Felline jumped up and snatched it back from him, baring her fangs. _That’s mine._

Prince Tygra raised his black eyebrows, staring down at her. “Look, kid,” he said, “it’s out of juice. There’s no point lugging it around. We’re low on supplies as it is. We each have to carry our own weight.”

With her own roll of the eyes, she holstered the gun. It was hers, and Prince Tygra had had no business messing with it. He wanted supplies? Fine. From what she could see, she was doing better than the whole lot of them. She picked up her pack and flung it at him.

He caught it, taken aback.

Cheetara opened the pack, curiosity sparkling in her sunset eyes, which widened when she saw the food and tools inside. Gently, she took the pack from the prince and smiled at Felline. “Thank you,” she said. “This will help.”

“Where did you get all this, anyway?” Tygra asked. “Were you with your family? Did you live somewhere around here?”

Felline stared at him. Then at the rest of them. They were all watching her.

“Where are your parents?” he pressed.

Then it dawned on her. They thought she was a cub. No wonder they were treating her so cavalierly. True, she was only a head taller than WilyKit and WilyKat. On the same principle, however, she was only a head shorter than Lion-O. She couldn’t look that young! Could she?

Her shoulders slumped. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything she could say, so she merely shook her aching head and returned to her spot by the fire.

..::~*~::..

She discovered that the way to not be left behind was simply to keep up.

Lion-O led the way due west, heading, so he said, for Mumm-Ra’s lair. They left the wooded hills for a broad, red desert, where sharp, windswept rocks pointed toward the setting sun. Felline brought up the rear of their train, keeping WilyKit and Kat between her and Cheetara. At the front, Tygra constantly nagged his brother about the direction and goal they were taking, though Lion-O wrapped himself in his cloak and marched ahead without a backward glance. Little Snarf trotted along at his master’s heels, his tufted ears drooping with weariness as the hot days dragged on.

At night, Felline pitched her pup tent and retired to it soon after dinners that steadily decreased in size. She lay on her sleep roll, listening to the others talk and argue. Cheetara wanted to go after the Book of Omens. Tygra agreed with her. Lion-O, however, seemed determined to take on any plan that his brother opposed.

How could King Lion-O do this? WilyKat and Kit had survived the fall of Thundera; she had avoided both death and slavery. What if there were others? Shouldn’t they be working to rebuild the kingdom, rather than chase after a pointless revenge that might kill them all? She didn’t understand him, not at all. By the dissent in the ranks, no one else agreed with his choices, either.

Stubborn to a fault, Lion-O took no counsel. To Mumm-Ra, they were to go.

Felline rolled onto her side, eyes closed, and searched for sleep. The tent rustled, and two small bodies burrowed inside.

Shocked, Felline raised her arm, but she couldn’t sit up inside the tiny tent. A chilly Kat curled up against her front, while an equally icy Kit snuggled into her back, wrapping a thin arm around her waist.

_Are they frightened?_ she wondered. Lonely? Or were they just cold? And hungry?

The kittens began to purr, their breathing slowing. Hesitantly, Felline lowered her arm, hugging WilyKat closer. His brown and white mane tickled her nose, but she couldn’t roll over without squashing WilyKit. She remembered creeping into Lepra’s bed when she needed comfort. Who would have ever thought that Felline would be a source of comfort to others?

She shifted, trying to dislodge a spiny cactus from her side. The purring was putting her to sleep.

As long as Snarf didn’t join them, she thought with a yawn, she’d allow them to share her tent.

..::~*~::..

Walk. Sleep. Walk. Felline had no idea where they were.

The six cats sought shelter from the brutal heat in the shade of one of the towering rock formations. Yesterday, they’d passed from the windblown desert sands to a strange landscape of twisting corridors. The stacked rocks leaned like towers of coins, hundreds of feet high. They formed a natural maze, and the cats were getting nowhere fast.

Kit and Kat flopped onto the cooked ground, backs together, panting. Broiling under her cloak, Felline joined them, settling gingerly on a rock.

Lion-O shaded his eyes against the white-hot sun blazing in the bronze sky, figuring out their next move, but Cheetara took advantage of the break. She leaned against a rock that couldn’t be any cooler than the one on which Felline had perched. Her black top and sleeveless jacket, buttoned below a generous bosom with the obligatory red jewel, bared her toned midriff. She crossed her legs in their black, skintight shorts, the garters attached to her footwear folding along her knees. She opened their last pack, her spotted-dandelion hair wilting in the heat.

“We’ve lost the trail, Lion-O,” Tygra said, exasperated.

“And our supplies are dangerously low,” Cheetara added. She shook the empty pack as if hoping food would come tumbling out of it. When nothing did, she sighed.

Scowling, Lion-O pointed west. “I don’t care. We keep moving forward.”

With a swirl of his dirty cloak, he was off again. The sun tangled in his mane, burning in the red strands.

No one bothered to get up, sweating in the shade. More than one belly grumbled loudly enough for all to hear. Lion-O kept walking.

Snarf let out a tired “ _Snyah,”_ plopping onto his chin. The faithful little petcat had reached his limit, apparently.

After a moment, however, Snarf’s ears pricked forward. He lifted his head, blinking to the south. Sensing something interesting, the kittens crawled over to him, their creamy, long-haired tails in the air.

“What is _that?”_ Kat burst out, which brought Lion-O back in six big bounds.

Felline muffled a giggle.

“Snyaar,” Snarf breathed in awe, which about summed it up for all of them. In the cliff wall, an arch opened onto a whitish sky and something that heaved and glittered golden under the unfiltered sun.

“Snarf just found the sandsea,” Lion-O announced with relief. “Mumm-Ra’s lair must be just on the other side.”

This time, when he left the shade, everyone kept right on his heels. A cooler, more inviting breeze blew through the aperture. Felline let it take her hood off her head.

Eagerly, she drank in the view. She’d never been to the sandsea, having grown up surrounded by cool, green woods and rolling farmland. Dropping her pack on the beach, she walked right up to it, marveling at the texture of the wavelets that lapped at her toes. They left behind granules that glittered like gold dust in her fur. It was some kind of liquefied sand, and the wind pushed it into high, choppy peaks and waves. A rhythmic rustle and plash came from the waves. It smelled like minerals.

Tygra, the tallest of them, and with the longest legs, reached the strange shore next. “Do you see a way around it?” he called, clearly impatient to get out of the sun as soon as possible.

The kittens gasped.

“I think I see something better,” Kat said, eyes huge.

It seemed as if they had all been struck as dumb as Felline. There, not too far away, a floating mirage, a dream, a godsend, was –

_“Food,”_ Lion-O said, breaking into the first real smile Felline had seen from him.

That single word broke the dam. They all started talking at once, except for Felline, but joy and hunger swelled inside like an expanding balloon. Cheering and laughing, the kittens raced into the sandy surf and dove on top of the food, sending up a spray of barbecued meat, whole fruits, and roasted potatoes. Felline scented spices and juices, and her stomach woke up and complained urgently. When had they eaten last? Yesterday? The day before?

Lion-O waded in, matter-of-factly picking up a bobbing piece of fruit in each hand. Buffeted by the scratchy waves, Felline nearly had to swim to join them, but she soon learned the trick to staying upright and laid claim to whatever drifted within reach. The sandsea’s water-sand beaded up and rolled off each delicious morsel.

Cheetara paused in her chewing. “Hey. Anyone else wondering where all this came from?”

The princes and the kittens didn’t stop stuffing their faces. Cheetara scanned the horizon while Felline twitched her ears back and forth, a hot potato skewered in her claws. She didn’t see anything extraordinary, or hear – no, wait, what was that? It sounded like a zipper coming undone, then like a rope buzzing through a pulley. It came from behind her.

She happened to be facing the shore, and Lion-O. She saw his expression change. Next thing she knew, something ripped her feet out from under her, and she slammed right into him. Someone big and heavy sandwiched her in from the other side. They were yanked into the air in a fountain of sand.

By the hollow feeling in her middle, she’d left her stomach in the sea with the potato while she and the others, mashed together and yelling, sailed higher and began to flip over. Breathless and voiceless, she buried her face in Lion-O’s chest plate and hung on for dear life.

They landed with a bruising _WHAM,_ bouncing hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Felline blinked away the black stars in her vision, willing her diaphragm to unclench, squirming against the pieces of weaponry and bits of armor digging into her from all sides. A low growl reverberated through her body, and she turned her head slightly to locate its source.

Honey and cream fur filled her horizon. Lion-O was lying half on top of her, his throat inches from her nose. She recoiled, or tried to – Snarf’s hot, furry body balled up on her other side, and WilyKit groaned quietly beneath both of them, and – oh, whiskers – that was Tygra’s foot by her ear. She flinched back the other way, into Lion-O’s heat. He growled again, glaring up at their captors through the ropes of a fishing net. His arms seemed to be pinned, or else she was sure he would have clawed the net to shreds around them.

She looked up, which from her position was really down. Across weather-beaten planks, a pair of webbed feet approached. She couldn’t stop a hiss, thinking of the amphibians in Foret, but her gaze traveled down – _up_ – a pair of scaly legs, mottled orange and white, to a carp’s whiskered face, large eyes shining green in the hot sun.

“Quite the catch, I’d say,” the carp-man commented, sounding fascinated.

Like a many-legged crustacean, the cats struggled as a group, only serving to tangle themselves up more. Tygra’s frustrated growls joined Lion-O’s. The fishman grinned, his thick, flat lips peeling back from tiny, pointed teeth. Four more fishmen joined him, gawking, their voices rising in a babble. Instead of hair, stiff fins crested their heads.

Third Earth was a big place. It was evident the fishmen had never seen ThunderCats, and Felline had never dreamed animals like they existed. She didn’t like the smell of them, briny and vaguely like spoiling seafood under the sun. They wore plated leather armor that covered their torsos but left their shapeless legs and overlong arms bare, even the women.

The planks beneath her gently rose and fell. They were on a ship, she realized, one that plied the air above the surface of the sandsea. Its leathery, dull red sails scraped at the greenish sky. The fishmen gabbled among themselves, paying as little heed to feline discomfort as if their catch had been nothing more sentient than a bundle of seaweed.

She couldn’t breathe, squashed under so many bodies. Lion-O, small for a lion, outweighed her by more than half, and one arm and both of her legs were trapped beneath him. Of course, the food had been a trap. Hunger had made them stupid, and they were paying the price.

Kat and Kit grunted and meowed, sounding dangerously close to tears. Flutters of panic built on all sides. They had to get out of the net, but if they did, what then? Felline had no doubt that if they tried to make a swim for it, the fishmen would shoot them in the sandy water before they reached the shore. The panic scratched the insides of her throat, threatening her ability to keep her hasty meal down. They were at the complete mercy of –

“What’s all that racket?”

The fishmen had strange accents, but this voice was even more coarse, crusty, and angry. The splash of real water accompanied it. “That better be the ramlak you spineless jellyfish are carryin’ on about.”

The voice belonged to a truly ugly fishman, his scales the slimy white of a grub, his left eye closed under a long, poorly healed scar. Every other step gave off a thump and a mechanical hiss; when he rounded the netted cats, Felline could see that he limped on a brass peg leg, fitted with miniature bellows that compressed with his weight, helping him keep his balance on the rolling deck. Slightly better-dressed than his crew, he wore an olive-green jacket and tatty maroon pants over his leather armor.

He peered at them through a narrowed, marble-blue eye, scowling over auburn fins that may have been a fishy beard. “Another worthless haul,” he sourly pronounced. He spoke to a fat, red-scaled fishman in a stained apron. “Take what the crew doesn’t eat of them, and turn it into chum.”

Chuckling wetly, the red fishman steeled a butcher’s knife against a boning knife. He leered at the cats.

“Whiskers,” Lion-O said under his breath.

There were too many fish to fight, even if the cats hadn’t all been winded in the landing. Cold, slimy, three-fingered hands hauled them first out of the net and second into a ring, tying their hands behind their backs in the middle. The fishmen passed many lengths of rope around, securing them together roughly at the waist. No fewer than eight fishmen closed ranks, pointing spear guns at them. Felline sat cross-legged between Cheetara and WilyKit, her fingers numb.

On the other side of the circle, the ugly, one-eyed fishman gave Lion-O a good approximation of a growl. “That bait was meant for the beast,” he complained.

“I am Lion-O, Lord of the ThunderCats, and I order you to release us,” Lion-O snapped.

Incredulous, Felline looked over her shoulder at the back of his spiky head. Was he serious? This wasn’t Cat’s Lair, and these weren’t his servants to boss around. Hadn’t he ever heard of diplomacy for the times when he had a spring-loaded, serrated harpoon pointed between his eyes?

“Oh?” The fishman burst out laughing, and his crew joined suit. “It talks!” he said gleefully. “And it’s still got some fight in it. Well, Lion-O, _Lord_ of the ThunderCats,” he sneered, “I am Koinelius Tunar, captain of this ship, and I order you filleted.”

Felline stared at Tunar with new eyes. Did these odd, fishy sailors of the sandy sea really eat beings that walked on two legs and spoke the same language? What kind of monsters were they?

Worse, from what creature had the barbecued meat they’d eaten in the sandsea come? She’d consumed it with no other thought than filling her aching, hollow belly, but she hadn’t recognized the flavor. The ship lurched, tilting sideways as a swell hit it broadside. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so good.

“Let’s start with the little ones. Their meat’ll be the most deliciously tender,” the chef said wickedly, the gold hoops thrust through his hairless mustaches glinting, and Felline’s hackles rose.

Before he could follow through on his threat, however, there was a bang almost like a gunshot. The entire ship shuddered, throwing the chef to the deck. At a second bang and more of his crew losing their footing, the fishy captain whirled around.

A long tentacle about as thick as Felline’s leg, which could have passed for a thorny vine in the jungle, snaked aboard and wrapped, quick as a blink, around one of the fallen fishmen. It dragged the hapless, screaming sailor into the heaving sandsea. More of the tentacles curled out of the depths with a different kind of scream, high-pitched and echoing. These vines were bigger around than Felline’s entire body. Whatever they were attached to, it was huge, possibly larger than the whole ship.

“Ramlak,” Captain Tunar breathed, unafraid. He clenched a fist. “At long last, my wretched quarry returns.”

Cheetara went to work on the ropes binding her wrists, and Felline tried to help. The two women sawed and picked at the hemp with their claws, severing any ropes they could reach. WilyKit’s frightened whimpers warned Felline a second before a tentacle smashed into the deck, splintering the planks. She ducked, covering Kit with her body.

A fishman shot her harpoon at the tentacle, but that only served to make the creature angry. It lifted the sailor into the air and whipped her back down again the way an avian might break the spine of a reptile. Dazed, the fishman lost hold of the spear gun, which skittered across the deck.

Right at Cheetara. Quick as a snake striking, she snagged the gun with her foot.

“Come on, you filthy maggots!” Captain Tunar yelled. “This is the moment we’ve waited for. Fight!”

Only the ramlak seemed to be listening. It tore up more planking, coiled about the mast and brought it down in pieces. The deck canted horribly.

While Felline continued to claw at the ropes binding their wrists, Cheetara and Tygra worked in tandem with their feet to position the spear gun so that its barbed harpoon could saw through the hemp. As soon as the ropes parted, the cats scattered.

Not a moment too soon. As if it could feel their body heat against its thick green skin, the ramlak’s tentacles drove into the deck, right where they had been sitting.

Lion-O was the first to be taken. Felline heard his hoarse shout and turned around in time to see the tentacles snatch up Tygra and Cheetara as well. Trying to keep her footing on the listing ship, Felline dove after Snarf’s tufted tail. It disappeared between some cargo containers. A tentacle seized her ankle mid-leap. She hit the planks spectacularly, arms outstretched, banging her chin so hard her teeth clacked. The tentacle slithered up her leg and constricted around her middle, lifting her into the air. Tighter. Tighter. She feared it would squeeze her in half.

Then she heard something that would haunt her for days.

“ThunderCats, _ho!”_

It was Lion-O, calling to the Sword of Omens, his clear tenor sounding older, more mature. The unmistakable crackle of lightning made Felline’s fur stand on end.

Then, the eeriest sound of all: The awakened Sword answered. It growled in a strange, otherworldly voice that resonated deep within her. She instinctively knew that voice. It lived in her blood. It resided in her bones. It was a voice that, if it commanded, she must obey.

It sent her no commands. Next thing Felline knew, the pain lessened and she landed neatly on her feet, taking the force of her fall in her bent knees. The severed tentacle writhed on the deck. Clear water pooled under it, as if Lion-O had cropped a real vine. She hissed at it, jumping out of its reach. What was this thing from the sandsea? Animal? Plant? Some monstrosity that was somehow both?

Lion-O straightened next to her, the full-sized Sword of Omens in his right hand, the Gauntlet encasing his left.

For a moment, Captain Tunar gaped at him, and then he rounded furiously on his stunned crew, sheltering by the wheelhouse. “The food’s fightin’ better than you!

“That’s the spirit, boyo. Show this cowardly crew how it’s done!” he went on, turning back to Lion-O. Now that they were all on even ground – so to speak – Felline saw how tall the fishman really was, and how torn and scarred the fins along the left side of his head and left forearm were. She shrank behind her king. However, Tunar had eyes only for the wielder of the Sword. He grinned, a maniacal light glinting in his good eye.

The ramlak howled. One of its tentacles swooped toward Captain Tunar, who calmly drew his cutlass and sliced it off. More body-warm water poured onto the deck, splashing Felline. The other cats were fighting the tentacles, even the kittens, using their baby fangs and tiny, needle-sharp claws. Her stomach turned over; was that how she had looked, fighting the slavers? She didn’t think she would be able to fight like that anymore. She was neither a kitten nor a savage.

Screaming, the ramlak withdrew its remaining tentacles, tucking them below the ocher waves. They left the flying ship with torn sails and water sloshing out of the hold, but the ship itself stabilized on its repulsors.

Faces grim, Tygra and Cheetara joined Felline behind Lion-O, pistol and staff in hand, ready to confront their fishmen captors.

Captain Tunar seemed to have forgotten their existence.

“Run, you coward!” he bellowed over the side of his ship. He shook his webbed fist at the sandsea. “You can’t escape me forever. I’ll follow you straight to the flaming pits of Magmel before I give you up!”

He dropped back onto his foot and his peg, the bellows hissing out with a sort of cheated sigh.

“Now,” Lion-O said to the fishman captain scathingly, flanked by his brother and a cleric, “what were we talking about before the interruption?”

Captain Tunar spun around with a laugh, completely unapologetic. “I believe we were discussing how we’d fillet you,” he said, and clapped the young lion on the shoulder, “but had I known you were such fine warriors, I would have gladly served my own first mate to you on a platter.”

He grinned, but the orange and white fishman, apparently the luckless first mate, nearly lost his jaw to the deck as his captain’s words sank in.

“Listen up, fishies!” Captain Tunar called over the splash of the sandsea. “These fine fellows are our new shipmates, so treat ‘em like you would your own scaly brothers. And fix the little ones some food.”

_“Food!”_ the kittens sang, starry-eyed.

Without a voice, Felline had no idea how to stop or caution them without sending them all into a battle they couldn’t win. Tunar was crazy, plain and simple. Surely Lion-O wasn’t going to let his actions slide. They couldn’t listen to him, captain or not, and certainly couldn’t trust him, not after the stunts he’d pulled –

Tunar, his webbed hand splayed on Lion-O’s shoulder, began to walk away, still talking amiably. To her disbelief, Lion-O went with him. Kit and Kat eagerly followed the red-scaled chef below deck.

Cheetara released the magic in her staff, tucked the shortened cylinder into the loop attached to the back of her shorts, and then propped her hands on her hips. In spite of her withering glare, the first mate cheerfully handed her and Felline a pair of brooms.

“Welcome to the crew,” he said with his idiotic smile.

“Why don’t I feel good about this, Tygra?” Cheetara asked, reluctantly accepting the broom, but the prince was no longer at her side and didn’t answer. “Tygra?”

Felline nudged her and then pointed to the rail. Prince Tygra bent over it, losing what lunch he’d managed to consume into the heaving golden sea.

The two ladies sighed, resigned. Following the bland instructions of the mottled first mate, they got to work scrubbing the deck clean.

The ship, Felline decided, was little better than a flying wreck. Its construction was haphazard at best, a mix of wood and metal bolted together on what she could only guess was pure whim. Or maybe by whatever material had been cheapest at the time. Her crew seemed to be as varied as the cats themselves, although Felline would be hard pressed to name their different genera. They went about their business professionally enough, so long as the ship stayed steady and the sandsea quiet, accepting the cats as a school of fish might part for and swim around a piece of jetsam.

From their conversation, she learned that the ramlak had somehow stolen the water from the fishmen’s oasis home. Getting it back was what they had set out on this mysterious sandsea to do.

They did have some water. Once, when no one was looking, Felline tried to ferret out where the twins had been taken. She stole down a ladder and splashed up to her knees in lukewarm, brackish water before she realized what had happened. She leaped out again, aghast. It was very black down there, almost oily, and it smelled terrible. The belly of the flying ship, it seemed, was full of stagnant water, where the fishmen went to sleep.

The first mate scolded her for dragging water onto the deck, and she had to sweep it again. Strangely enough, Prince Tygra sought her out as she resentfully scrubbed the planks until they shone.

“Hi,” he said, giving no indication that he’d been violently ill a scant hour before. He pointed skyward. “I’m sure you’ve noticed my darling little brother is playing mad sea pirate.”

Felline looked up at the crow’s nest. She nodded, shoulders slumped. She didn’t like this situation any more than Cheetara did, but what choice did they have? She couldn’t go up there and drag her king down like a mother cat and her wayward cub.

“Well, there’s something I need to ask you.” Tygra scrubbed the back of his head, not quite looking at her. “We all know that thing is going to come back before we find a way off this tub, and no one is going to convince my brother that we don’t belong here. What I need to know, right now, is if you are going to be a help or a hindrance. Can you fight?”

Ears easing back, she shook her head in reply.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” he said with a sigh, a seasoned soldier stuck with the unenviable task of turning a raw recruit into something serviceable. “You seem like a noble’s daughter to me. I’ve seen plenty of them to know.”

That was true. Being a prince, he would have – and, she realized, he would probably know her father. She stared up at him, hope and fear warring in her chest, the need to know nearly strangling her. Here was a source of information. Perhaps of closure.

Would Prince Tygra know of her father’s fate? If the answer was yes, he might know of Bastien’s fate, too.

Prince Tygra heaved a sigh, obviously aggravated. “Frankly, you’re not what I’d choose to take into a battle. No offense, but this isn’t the place for someone like you.”

Felline didn’t appreciate his tone. Her upbringing, if it was a fault to put to anyone, belonged on the shoulders of their fallen society. He frowned down at her, apparently waiting for some sort of reply, but she tucked her chin and glowered at his large feet.

She wouldn’t ask him about Commander Snow. Certainly not about Bastien. Just like she would never tell him about Lepra. She missed them so much, and, although she would never admit it aloud, she believed all three to be dead. Their names would mean nothing to this spoiled, rough-mannered prince.

Which left her with the problem of his prejudiced brown eyes. She rested a hand on her rifle – not to draw it, but to draw attention to it.

He noticed, rubbing his white jaw thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. See these?”

With a glance around to make sure there were no fishmen nearby, he led the way to one of the unoccupied gun turrets on the deck.

“Laser cannons,” he told her. He laid his big hand flat on the blue steel blister of the turret. “There’s power driving this ship. Maybe we could borrow some of it.”

Felline watched with interest, her irritation forgotten, as he produced a pair of tools from a pocket of his fatigues – screwdrivers, she thought Jorma had called them – and began to remove one of the rusted steel panels with deft white fingers. When he had a wide enough gap, she was quick to lend her smaller hands. She searched around inside the apparatus by feel for a jack or a port similar to those in the energy pack for her rifle.

Just then, with a deafening crack and rumble, a bolt of lightning struck the sandsea. Menacing gray clouds piled up faster than Felline could believe, turning the sea and the sky the purple-black of a bruise. Lightning continued to paint the air in streaks of blinding white.

She and Tygra reflexively looked up as Lion-O shouted, “I see it! There! A quarter arc of the sun’s journey straight ahead.”

Felline didn’t need to see with her eyes to know that more trouble than the storm was brewing. She could hear them, the hungry screams of the ramlak.

“Quit floppin’ around, ya lazy lumps!” Captain Tunar shouted. “The chase is on!”

This was no time for hesitation. Felline snatched a screwdriver from Prince Tygra and set to the panel, determined to get it open and find what she needed before those long fingers of pure electricity found and fried her. Rust flaked off in her fur. Screws – some sheared clean in half – pinged on the deck where she carelessly dropped them. She wrenched the panel free with a groan of old metal. Tygra smirked at her, not altogether kindly, drew his pistol and his blue bola whip, and ran forward, where the crew gathered with more of their spear guns.

“Thunderstorm just blew in ahead!” The first mate’s voice floated on the streaming wind, always a little confused, a little slow. Was he just now figuring that out?

Felline spat her hair out of her mouth, testing the colored wires she pulled loose one at a time. The lightning strikes and thunder came faster and louder, and sand sprayed across the decks each time the ship drove into a trough in the rising waves.

The first mate innocently added, “Advise we sail around it!”

“And lose the ramlak’s trail?” Captain Tunar demanded in a tone that brooked no argument. “Full speed ahead!”

“But Cap’n, we’ll never survive!” the first mate wailed.

“The only thing that’s not surviving is the ramlak,” Lion-O shouted.

He ran right past Felline, who sat with her back to the gun turret and inserted a jack into a socket on her rifle. The rifle woke up with a mechanical squeal, all of its urgent red lights flashing. Not seeing her, Lion-O jumped up to the wheelhouse.

“Into the storm we go!” he yelled, sounding as crazed as the fishman captain.

“Lion-O!” Tygra shouted. “This is madness! What are you doing?”

“Not letting anything stand in my way,” Lion-O shouted back harshly. “Not a storm, not you!”

If Tygra responded, Felline didn’t hear it. The wind whistled and shrieked like something alive. Hardly daring to breathe, she held her rifle in both hands, willing the red lights to calm, to turn green, while the wires she’d yanked loose snarled into crackling, multicolored knots. A wave of liquid sand burst over the railing and rolled over her, leaving her coughing and spluttering on the fine particles.

Cheetara’s high, feminine voice pierced the maelstrom. “Captain, please! The ship won’t survive long in this storm!”

Then Felline screamed, her own voice lost to the wind, and flung herself to the deck. A chunk of detritus slammed into the gun turret blister and whipped away, shearing the air inches from her head. Like enormous hailstones, more pieces of metal and rock pounded the deck, leaving dents and gaping holes in the already unstable vessel. The wind and clouds roiled like an upset stomach, regurgitating the bits of landscape they had swept up inland.

Shaking with the sudden adrenaline rush, Felline pulled herself upright. Her rifle flashed yellow.

Captain Tunar climbed into the turret and took the seat and the controls. He did something that caused the mechanism inside to whine to life. With a flare of purple light that burned her eyes, it sent a powerful zap through Felline’s body. She went rigid for uncountable time, and then it blew her backward with a feeling like a thousand claws had hooked themselves into her bones and then ripped free.

The railing under her armpit brought her up short. She hung on, one leg dangling over the edge, waiting for her heart to slow and the pain in her ribs to subside.

Expression fierce, Captain Tunar fired the massive cannon, sending blue-green spheres hurtling through the tempest, blasting the metal and rock chunks apart before they reached his ship. Above him, high in the ruined rigging, Lion-O dug in his toes and protected the remains of the leather sails. The Sword of Omens cut through the detritus with each two-handed swing.

Sobbing for breath, Felline watched him through streaming eyes. She had to admit, it was an impressive feat of strength. He was grinning, a wild light dancing in his blue eyes.

Then one of the halved chunks came right for her.

With a snarl, Felline brought the rifle up and fired. The bolt came out green-white, and the lump dissolved into dust.

“Isn’t it exhilaratin’?” Captain Tunar roared. He burst into laughter and continued firing.

Felline yanked the jack out of the rifle’s socket and flung it from her as if speed could keep her from getting shocked again. The tangle of wires had burst out of the panel, leaving a smoking black scar behind. She stared at it worriedly, wondering if she’d damaged the turret’s operation, half hoping it would explode and take that fish-brained captain with it. Still, her rifle’s charge readout showed solid green across the board. She took it and ran.

“Don’t forget to save some for the ramlak!” Lion-O bellowed.

She squinted up at him. This is it, she thought. The new Lord of the ThunderCats had completely lost his mind. She wondered what sort of poison Koinelius Tunar had passed on through his large, webby hands.

Well, never mind that for now. Felline needed to find a place to hole up. Remembering Snarf, and thinking that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to trust a petcat’s instincts, she headed for the cargo containers.

The gun turret did eventually stop working, sort of fizzling out under the captain. He leaped off it, nimbly for an animal with only one leg, and stared hard at the heart of the storm. Lightning continually struck the sandsea dead ahead.

Something gigantic curled out of the waves. Just for a moment. Just a taste of what was to come. Tentacles three times the size of those they’d already seen. A body that resembled the closed bud of a flower, matching the ship pound for pound. What looked like stamen wriggled out of the top of the bud, licking the air like pointed maroon tongues.

“It’s surfacing!” Tunar howled. “Now’s our chance!”

The horrified fishmen stared at the ramlak, their spear guns armed but not aimed. A tentacle whipped aboard and swept a bunch of them aside. More tentacles appeared, slapping and grasping.

Felline peered out from her hiding place, lying flat on her belly, rifle propped in front of her eyes. Trapped in some sort of battle lust, Lion-O fired a harpoon at the creature. It tugged the gun out of his hands at once. He went into the skirmish headlong, laying about with the Sword of Omens. Water and tentacle bits splashed onto the deck.

It quickly became a battle for survival. As if determined to break its nemesis into unidentifiable pieces, the ramlak coiled its tentacles around every inch of the groaning ship it could and began to squeeze. Fishmen fired their spear guns, but some sailors were pulled overboard, and none hurt the creature.

Felline sniped at the tentacles that passed where she had wedged herself between the cargo containers. Fully charged, the rifle packed enough punch to sever the limbs as well as the Sword did. The containers restricted her view to legs, feet, planks, and tentacles. She felt very alone in the midst of the chaos. It was impossible to hear anything over the noise, except for Tunar’s rough voice from the seat of a second gun turret: “Take down the arms! Then we go for the head!”

A sound strategy, but easier said than done. The fishmen attempted, with long harpoons, to fend off the tentacles. The overstressed ship groaned and cracked like melting ice floes. Felline shot one vine-like tentacle swooping for Lion-O. He didn’t notice, but she didn’t care. She just hoped the ship would hold together.

The ramlak seemed to be trying to climb aboard. It pressed its petal-wrapped body against the starboard side, and looped its tentacles amidships. Felline turned her shots on it, but none could penetrate its skin.

Like a cub crushing a nutshell between its hands, the ramlak snapped the ship in two. It screamed in triumph.

Brackish water and fishmen fell, crying out in fear. Felline managed to hang on to the bucking planks until the ramlak lifted the crippled ship onto its side, which sent her and the bulky cargo boxes careening down a cracking, splintering slide, right into the sandsea.

She kicked with all of her might, swimming for the surface, but the sandsea wasn’t like the lakes of her home. It was heavier, thicker, and she was less buoyant in its currents. Sand clogged her fur, dragging her down.

Quickly running out of air, she unsnapped the clasps of her borrowed cloak and twisted away from it, trying not to get wrapped up in it like a macabre present. Ditching the rifle was her next option, but she couldn’t do it. Her fingers froze around the barrel, joints stiff and creaking. She began to sink.

Someone grabbed her and hauled her into the supercharged air. Hacking up sand, she clung to her rescuer. The fishman, flapping webbed feet and fanned tail, propelled them effortlessly through the liquid sand. Unhindered by fur, he hefted her onto a floating bit of wreckage, where others, including Cheetara, clung. Using her staff, the cleric helped fish out Tygra, the kittens, and more of the crew.

Incredibly, Felline could still hear Tunar shrieking. _“Come on, beast! For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee!”_

He fired a harpoon straight down the creature’s gullet, leaped, and started reeling himself in. The ramlak howled and began to submerge. Tunar hooted with laughter, his voice growing more distant as he soared through the air. “You won’t slip away this time! I’ve gotcha now!”

His maniacal laughter abruptly stopped. So, too, did the ramlak’s screams. The monster had folded up its sepals and disappeared into the sea, its tentacles slowly sinking, taking the mad fishman captain with it.

Although far from silent, the sea seemed strangely empty and quiet with them gone. The sky’s fury, like the ramlak, had moved on.

“Everyone!” Lion-O bellowed from a cluster of broken masts. “Over here!”

He seemed to have regained his senses, waving animals closer to his little haven, concerned for someone other than himself for the first time since this whole adventure had begun. Tunar’s abrupt end might have shocked some sense into him, or maybe it was their reduced numbers. Felline kicked with fishmen on either side of her, pushing their makeshift raft over to him. Tygra, Snarf riding on his shoulder, hopped up by his brother first and then helped her and Cheetara up. Felline shook herself to get rid of the clinging sand.

Lion-O waited until they were more or less stable, and then he fired the last spear gun at the dismembered prow, bobbing some distance away. The barb bit true.

Alone, Lion-O began to haul the prow closer. Sweat dripped from his hairline, but he didn’t ask for help.

“Pull, Lion-O, you’ve got it!” WilyKit cheered. She danced up and down, her coltish, fawn-colored legs flashing through the dagged panels of her skirt.

Whether he did or not, Felline couldn’t simply stand there and watch. She grasped a handful of rope and hauled with him, their hands overlapping, white and cream and white again. Being so small and relatively weak, she wasn’t entirely confident she was helping, but doing something was better than doing nothing.

He didn’t thank her. He didn’t acknowledge her at all.

Felline let it pass. The tormented look on his face said quite enough.

..::~*~::..

“You steered us into quite a storm, Lion-O,” Cheetara chided, but she was smiling.

The storm passed away, the lingering lightning more of a show than a danger, and the ThunderCats gathered on the slanted deck of the ship’s prow. Relieved that the kittens were safe, Felline offered Kit her hand, and the little she-cat happily swung it back and forth.

“I lost sight of what’s important,” Lion-O said softly to his brother and Cheetara. He bowed his head, “and for that I’m –”

He never finished. The ramlak burst out of the sandsea, stamens bending directly for the cats. Two long, elastic tongues unrolled from the center mouth.

“Snyarf!” Snarf cried, covering his eyes with his tiny paws.

The tongues snatched up Lion-O, who grunted in surprise.

“No!” Cheetara cried. She lunged forward but missed as the ramlak reeled him in.

“Lion-O!” Tygra shouted.

“You give him back, you slimy sack of tentacles!” Kat yelled, hopping up and down and waving his fists. Felline grabbed him by his pouched belt before he fell into the sea.

They stared, aghast, as the ramlak devoured Lion-O and then bent forward again, still hungry. The kittens screamed. There was nowhere to run.

And then the creature stopped its advance. It howled again, questioning.

A bright blue star appeared on its bulbous side. The glowing star grew. From behind it, the Sword of Omens burst through the layered skin. A gout of pure, clear water expelled Lion-O from the creature.

Like an overripe melon, the ramlak burst apart, great geysers of water shooting out of it. The water just kept coming. Lighter than the sandsea, it stayed on top rather than sinking away. As the ramlak deflated, the pool of refreshing blue grew. It drenched everything. After a stunned moment, every fishman began celebrating.

_“We got our water back!”_

Carefully, Tygra lowered himself to the frothy sea, using both feet and one hand to keep his balance on the sloping deck. Grasping his brother’s wrist, he levered a coughing Lion-O aboard. Cheetara jumped to help them.

Lion-O raised his head, a proud grin baring his fangs.

His smile froze. His blue eyes widened.

Tygra and Cheetara turned around, puzzled.

Felline saw it in their faces. Without her cloak and sopping wet, there was no doubt that she was no cub. She pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes and glared at them defiantly, daring them to say something.

Cheetara recovered first. She elbowed Tygra out of the way and jerked Lion-O upright. She then offered Felline a smile.

Cheetara was so much like Lepra sometimes, hyperconscious of the feelings of those around her, wise and mature. They had won, hadn’t they? Lion-O was alive. The oasis had been restored. The fishmen could build new lives here with their families. It had all turned out for the best. Cautiously, Felline returned the smile. It felt alien to her face, but she held it as long as she could.

..::~*~::..

On the shore of the new, shining blue sea, Felline, Tygra, and Cheetara finished lashing down the supplies provided by the fishmen in the airboat also gifted to them. The storm had unfortunately washed away Felline’s pack, but the fishmen had been generous.

WilyKat and WilyKit hung over one of the pontoons, watching Lion-O and Tunar’s former first mate shake hands.

“We’d better get moving before the sun sets,” Tygra called.

Lion-O turned and smiled, the first stars of evening lighting the sky beyond him.

“So what orders do you have for your crew?” Cheetara asked. Lightly teasing. Showing him that she was not angry.

The young king lost his smile. He deliberated a moment, and then said, “Set our course for the Book of Omens.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Cheetara saluted him, relief making her smile brilliant.

Tygra smirked. “And what do we do with these stowaways?” he drawled.

Kit and Kat curled their hands under their chins, meowing as cutely as they could. Sincerely wishing she still had her cloak, Felline hunched over a rucksack, tightening the drawstring. For all her pretending otherwise, what answer Lion-O gave meant a great deal to her. Her ears tilted toward shore. Waiting.

“I said I’m not going to babysit,” he said. “It’s a good thing they’ve proven they can take care of themselves.”

“Yahoo!” the kittens chorused.

Felline let out the breath she’d been holding. She’d earned a place among her own kind. Good enough.

Tygra started up the airboat engines, and Lion-O jumped aboard. He looked at Felline. She bristled. _What?_

“What’s your name, anyway?” he asked.

She looked at him. Stink Eye, full power.

He cleared his throat and looked away.

Satisfied, Felline sat and let the wind push her hair off her face. She’d earned her place, but that didn’t mean she was ready to talk. And he was just going to have to deal with that.


	6. Chapter Six

"Snyar snyar,” Snarf said.

The little red petcat struggled up the tree, having some trouble with his round tummy, and then sat down next to Felline on her branch. The night was quiet and serene, the star-flecked sky clear and cold. After leaving the sandsea, they’d had a much better time of catching dinner in the form of fish, which, roasted over their nightly campfires, were the perfect end to their days of travel in the high country.

Tonight, Felline had needed to get away. She missed her sister, and wished her grief wouldn’t keep striking her in weird places – while burying fish bones in the ashes, for instance, or pinning her hair back, or sitting thinking about nothing, absolutely nothing! and it would catch her hard in the ribs, leaving her gasping. Fighting to hide the pain from her companions made it worse, sometimes.

Her last memories of Snow weren’t good, but she missed him, too. She missed the man who used to carry her around on his broad shoulders, who had taught her to string a bow and nock an arrow, who had tried, and failed, to give her a better life. He was her father. Nothing would ever change that.

At least her last memory of Bastien wasn’t bad. Shamefully, she had already forgotten what his voice had sounded like. That, too, carried its own special grief.

Felline smiled at Snarf and reached over to scratch the yellow tuft between his overlarge ears. She didn’t mind his company. If anyone, she was tempted to talk to Snarf. He couldn’t answer, exactly, but he seemed to understand speech and to care how others were feeling.

“Nyar?” Snarf queried, big green eyes shining in the moonlight.

She almost answered. It was terribly lonely to be silent when she was no longer technically alone. She moved her fingers, tickling Snarf under his pointed chin. She still felt like the outsider. The stray.

WilyKat and WilyKit were so young. She heard Kat yelling in a singsong, “WilyKit loves a froo-oog, WilyKit loves a froo-oog!” and his sister furiously shouting, “No, I don’t! You dared me!”

Amused, Felline flicked an ear. What was that about?

“Nyah,” Snarf said with something very like a shrug.

She giggled. The twins were never quiet for more than five minutes at a time, but as long as they limited their pranks to each other, it was nothing to worry about. Probably.

Felline stood and offered her shoulder to Snarf. He scrambled up, hooking dainty claws in her tunic. With her small passenger, she leaped off the branch and took off running.

The further she got from camp, the more the forest came alive. It comprised mostly evergreen at this altitude, towering, shaggy behemoths that left huge circles of soft, brown needles around their trunks. The grass and mulch felt wonderful to her feet, and the fragrant night air invigorated her. Clouds of lightning bugs broke apart and eddied in her wake. Nocturnal creatures called out from the trees, the grass, and the dirt. Night-blooming flowers tilted pale yellow, lavender, and white petals for Cheshire’s obscured light.

Out here, she could cry.

Was it wrong that, surrounded by her own species, she needed time alone, space to breathe? She slowed, panting, and then boosted herself into another tree, where she could look out over the swift, clean river that conveniently meandered the same direction as they – toward the Book of Omens.

She brought her legs to her chest, hugged them, and rested her chin on her knees. Tygra. Cheetara. Lion-O. Would these cats have ever been her friends, if things had been different? If Thundera had never fallen, if Commander Snow had presented his daughters at court as he had planned? She didn’t think so. The royal sons didn’t even seem to like each other, never mind an outsider, forcing Cheetara into the middle of their squabbles. It hadn’t taken Felline long to observe that both princes were attracted to the cleric.

She stretched out on her branch, swinging her feet over the ground fifty feet below. Talk about an unenviable position to be in. Did Cheetara ever feel the need to run away? No one would ever catch her if she did.

Felline suspected that she would never learn if Cheetara was aware of the growing romantic rivalry between Tygra and Lion-O, or if she returned the feelings of either one. Felline well knew what it meant to be a woman, capable of keeping great secrets from the world.

But, as friends . . . She scrunched up her nose. Cheetara had her pick of two fine princes if she chose to acknowledge them. It was none of Felline’s business. Felline had left Cheetara and Lion-O sitting cozily by the fire, close enough to feel each other’s body heat, chatting too quietly for her to hear what they were saying.

So, like Tygra, she’d taken a walk.

Thinking of Tygra, she couldn’t help a groan. It wasn’t like he was any easier to be around. He was so big. His mere presence was stifling.

That morning, the brothers had almost come to blows – again – over some question of judgment and a perceived insult. Felline personally tended to agree with Tygra. As far as she was concerned, he was a natural born leader, charismatic, intelligent, and fearless. She could understand why most Thunderians had thought he should be the next king. What was Lion-O to him? A cub blundering around in the dark, acting on impulse rather than sound reason. More than once, he’d arbitrarily decided something simply because it was the opposite of what Tygra had wanted to do.

Those were the times she found it hardest to hold her tongue. The urge to just . . . just . . . _smack_ that kid nearly made her wild inside. He was a spoiled brat. Oblivious. Irritating. Willfully stupid. Oh, the times she’d been about to let him have it –!

Who was she kidding? No one, not even Tygra, could disobey the king. Felline could no more talk back to Lion-O than Snarf could sing the national anthem.

Suddenly, Snarf pulled himself up the side of her face, planting his front paws on top of her head. “Snyar?”

She put her hand on his side, felt him trembling, and patted him. _What is it?_

For an answer, he bounded off her shoulder and hightailed it back to camp.

Shocked by his inexplicable desertion, Felline stared after him, and then looked back. She couldn’t see anything, but a sound that sparked a terrible memory in her mind made her shiver. Tail out for balance, she climbed higher and popped out of the topmost branches of the spicy-scented evergreen into a cooling breeze.

What she saw made her shinny down the tree so fast she burst out the bottom in a shower of twigs and needles, one elbow scraped up and bleeding.

She hopped around for a minute, wincing, and then hared after Snarf as though she had a dog on her heels.

She arrived in time to see tubby little Snarf rocket out of the trees with a terrified “Snyarf!” and plaster himself to his master’s face, knocking the Lord of the ThunderCats flat on his back in the dirt.

Unperturbed, Cheetara watched as Lion-O sat up, all four sets of Snarf’s claws tangled in his mane. “Are you kidding me?” he said into Snarf’s belly. “Now? This better be very important, Snarf.”

So, only a life or death situation was important enough to interrupt his flirting with Cheetara. Check.

Snarf hopped into Lion-O’s lap and grabbed his breastplate at the armholes, yanking on it – “Narf! Narf! Narf!” – to make Lion-O stand. Felline moved into the firelight, her tail lashing her legs, ears flat back. Cheetara met her eye; understanding flashed between them, and then the cleric disappeared in a rush of air. Felline had witnessed her speed the night of the festival. Now, Felline realized, it could only be the result of the training Cheetara had received in the clerisy. Much slower, she followed Cheetara up the nearest tree. She pointed toward the southwest once she gained the top.

Lion-O, Tygra, Kit, and Kat joined them. Every feline face turned grim as they surveyed the approaching danger. The cluster of bluish artificial lights was impossible to miss, like a blemish on the velvety forest, brighter than the three moons above. Giant war mechs, outfitted with buzz saws, carved a path through the trees.

“It’s the entire lizard army,” Cheetara said in dismay. She turned to her left, claws extending as she flexed her fingers, gearing herself up for the coming fight. “Just say the word, Lion-O.”

Lion-O didn’t say anything. Felline saw him glance down at the Gauntlet, but she couldn’t see his expression. The cats waited, their breaths mingling on the warm air.

“No,” Lion-O said at last. “If we stay here, we die.”

Felline felt rather than heard the twins sigh shakily. She let one out herself. For once, she agreed with his decision. They would not survive a head-on battle with that many lizards and their giant machines. In spite of everything, because of everything, she really didn’t want to die.

Lion-O stood up, but Tygra got to his feet, too.

“ThunderCats do not retreat,” he said loudly.

Appalled, Felline stared at him.

“With a situation this hopeless I’ll make an exception,” Lion-O snapped.

“Hope comes from action,” Tygra shot back furiously. “Isn’t that what Father taught us?”

_“And what happened to him?”_ Lion-O snarled. The triple moonlight silvered his blue eyes, the pupils constricted to thin black strips. “Now, come on.”

He returned to the ground long enough to stamp out the fire and bury it. Quickly, and without speaking, the rest of them gathered up their supplies. Then, the cats silently navigated through the trees, leaping from branch to branch, a few fallen needles the only sign of their passing. The kittens, tired and frightened, lagged behind. Felline waited for them to catch up. Every passing minute brought the screech of saws and the cracking, rumbling sounds of falling trees closer. And closer.

They didn’t stop until they saw a faint glow up ahead. A dome of twisted thorns and dead, ropy vines shone white under the moons. The briar looked large enough to swallow Thundera whole, rising higher than the majestic evergreens.

“They won’t be able to follow us in there,” Lion-O said, pleased.

Tygra, predictably, was not. “You’re asking us to, what,” he challenged, “hide among the brambles waiting for the lizards to just go away? This is not how we’re going to win this war.”

Win the war? Felline had assumed they were more concerned with staying alive long enough to claim the Book of Omens and whatever knowledge it could give them than in eradicating lizards off the face of Third Earth.

Lion-O gave Tygra an icy look. Then he smiled. “I’m not asking,” he said with a mock purr. He went on ahead.

Felline jumped after him at once, keen to put as much distance between herself and the lizards as she could. The kittens and Cheetara fell into line right behind her.

“You may be king,” Tygra called, some of his fire quenched, “but I’m still older than you!”

Lion-O didn’t bother to respond. He waited for them, a stone-faced Tygra in the lead with pistol drawn, to enter the thorny briar ahead of him before he, too, passed from moonlight to shadow.

..::~*~::..

_This has been the longest day in the history of ever,_ Felline thought tiredly. She passed a hand over her eyes. To walk with the petalars, the plant-like inhabitants of the briar, meant to walk hand in hand with mortality. Felline knew she would not have been able to handle another minute with the tiny, fragile, migratory people, watching them bloom from seedlings to six-inch-high adults, fall like leaves in their swift old age, and wither away, their pinks and oranges and greens turning gray as ash, all in a matter of hours. So many lives, gone. Peacefully. Painlessly. But gone.

It may have been the natural course of things for the petalars, but for a creature given roughly a hundred years to live, it was too much death in too short a time.

Felline watched the last of the petalars drift out of sight on the roaring updrafts of heat from the burning briar, their songs fading in the night. WilyKit held the final, achingly sweet notes on her flupe, a circular pipe with six finger holes, her eyes closed beneath her nearly hairless brows.

The briarwood was tough, but could not stand against the growing blaze, obviously set by the lizard army to flush the ThunderCats out of hiding. The fire painted them in shifting shades of orange. Glowing embers hissed as they discovered the dry ground. Kit hissed when she accidentally stepped on one. She tucked her flupe back in its pouch and then sat down to nurse her foot.

“So what now?” Tygra asked, subdued.

“We can try to find another way out of this briar,” Cheetara said.

“Retreat?” Lion-O asked with his back to them. He turned away from the flames. The ghost of his little petalar friend Emrick haunted his eyes. They had met Emrick as a happy, bright-eyed seedling in the dawn, and left him as brown dust in the twilight. The live-in-the-moment philosophy of the gentle plant creatures had hit Lion-O the hardest, completely changed his way of thinking in just one day. “ThunderCats never retreat. I say we face the lizards. And hope for the best.”

He smiled, and Felline was struck by the sincerity in his face. He wasn’t so plain, actually, not when he smiled like that. She looked away.

“We’re all leaves passing in the wind,” he said, making her think of the petalars joyfully waving goodbye, of Emrick’s contented smile as he crumbled like dry herbs in Lion-O’s hands. “Here and then gone. But while we’re here, we live to the fullest!”

With that, he drew the Sword of Omens and woke it with his call. Magical lightning swarmed over the shortened blade. The Sword growled, extending to its full length, turning blue lightning red. The Eye of Thundera sent up a beacon into the night sky. The stylized roaring cat head of the beacon flickered against the smoke and clouds, a challenge, a victory, a halo of red and black.

Whatever Felline might have been thinking was wiped clean. She could feel the pull of the Eye growing in her chest, strength she didn’t know she had filling her entire body.

If the lizards were paying attention, they would know that death was coming for them.

When Lion-O charged toward the source of the fire, she and the other cats followed, as fierce and focused as hunters. There was no hesitation. No fear. No doubt. The Sword glowed with eerie blue light like a shooting star that led them forward.

At first, they made real headway. The ThunderCats burst out of the burning brambles, Lion-O cutting a path through vines and lizards alike. Felline and Tygra split off, picking off foot soldiers one at a time, while Cheetara dove straight in, staff whistling in the wind.

Cat to lizard, they might have won. However, the war mech pilots were quick to come to the defense of their comrades. Laser blasts sent dirt and rocks flying in Felline’s face, blinding her. She retreated, coughing, scrubbing at the grit in her eyes, and stopped only when she felt the kittens’ backs pressing against hers.

Tygra pushed against her shoulder, Lion-O crowded her other side, and Cheetara closed the circle behind her. They were surrounded.

“There are too many of them,” Lion-O said. Defeat darkened his voice.

“Father would have been proud of your bravery, Lion-O,” Tygra said. His voice, usually so sardonic, rang with sincerity.

Lion-O grinned over his shoulder. “A glory I’m honored to share with all of you,” he said.

“My service to the crown has always been a cherished privilege,” Cheetara said warmly.

Eyes watering from the dirt, Felline said nothing. Was that it, then? They all say their goodbyes, and lay down to die?

She could feel WilyKat trembling against her hip, although the kitten held his flink at the ready. The weapon was small, insignificant, a bit of wire tied to a ring that sprouted clawed hooks and a few ragged feathers. The kind of clever, nimble thing a pickpocket would carry.

The war mechs closed in, the lizards on foot filling in the gaps between each of them, bladed rifles aimed and ready to fire.

In the back of her mind, Felline realized that a rumbling noise had been growing for the last few minutes. She assumed it was the sound of the war mechs, until one of them exploded and toppled forward, felled by an orange blast from behind.

Something huge and angry tore up the ground in its approach, eyes glowing red in the night. It opened its mouth and spat another laser beam that took out a second war mech; a third mech blew apart from a cannon blast.

Instant pandemonium. Screaming lizards fled in every direction, although Felline could hear a familiar, gurgling voice ineffectually shouting, _“I ssaid hold your possitionss, you misserable cowardss!”_

The mechanical beast roared over the ground, gaining on the lizards and the cats trapped in the center of the battlefield.

“What is that thing?” Cheetara gasped. She shielded her face with an arm as one of the mechs managed to hit it head on with a green laser blast.

The ground erupted. Out of the column of dirt, the machine leaped. Growling, engine revving and treads squealing, it landed, whipped around, and came at the lizards again. It hurled a laser blast that disintegrated the offending mech.

The battle between machines sounded like the fall of Thundera all over again. Felline grimaced, raising her pitiful rifle. She needn’t have bothered. The mechs had been demolished and removed from the field. General Slithe and his remaining lizards put their tails in the air and beat a hasty retreat.

Bemused, the cats watched the lizards go. The unknown pilot of the suddenly quiescent machine drove it up to them. Sleek and low-slung, the fenders over the treads fashioned like cat’s paws, it purred to a stop. The ThunderCats uncertainly lowered their weapons. Felline watched the machine, sure that at any moment it was going to lurch forward and eat them.

“Hope that’s on our side,” WilyKit said in a faint, high voice.

The angry red light in the eyes died. A panel in the top opened, and a figure emerged.

One last, brave lizard sprang from the shadows, straight for the figure’s throat.

Quick as lightning, the figure lashed out with a pair of nunchaku, the chain rattling, and broke the lizard’s jaw. As the unconscious reptile fell back, the figure whipped his nunchaku around his massive shoulders and tucked one end under his arm. Then he stared down at them, his face lost in darkness, Leo’s swirled moon-disc framing his head.

“Who are you?” Lion-O demanded, sounding reluctantly awed.

In a bass growl, he said, “Name’s Panthro.”

..::~*~::..

General Panthro. Grune had told King Claudus that Panthro had died, which was why Claudus had dedicated the festival to him, yet here he was, in command of the monstrous machine he tersely called the ThunderTank. Aside from acknowledging he’d followed the Eye of Thundera beacon to help them, he didn’t seem interested in talking. He spent the hour until dawn using the tank to help the cats put out the fire, carting water from the river, chopping down trees, and building up an earthen bank to act as a firebreak.

The sun revealed a blackened landscape. The last flames whipped themselves out against the briarwood. All that remained of the forest fire were tall, naked evergreens, wisps of acrid smoke, and a carpet of soft ash.

Panthro emerged from the cockpit and, still without speaking, started crawling around the tank, hammering, wrenching, ratcheting, and scowling. He didn’t limit himself to the tools in their red metal box, either. At one point, he stood up and started kicking his heel into a dented panel, causing the whole tank to bounce on its treads. No one dared approach the gray cat, who looked as if he was grinding his teeth hard enough to shatter them.

“I thought he’d be smaller,” Lion-O said, his voice cracking like that of a youth’s.

“I thought he’d be less spiky,” Cheetara said. She eyed the general’s vest and gloves, studded with metal spikes.

Panthro lifted the abused panel and released a billow of sparks, flames, and smoke into the morning air. He was easily as big as Grune had been, and covered in far more scars. Felline crouched on the ground, her arms around her knees, watching him work. She’d thought he was bald, a strange phenomenon for a cat, but he had a crescent of thick black mane knotted at the back of his head.

A sly grin spread across Tygra’s face. “Go on, Lord of the ThunderCats,” he drawled. “See if your loyal subject needs help fixing his tank. That is, unless you’re scared.”

Felline rolled her eyes, but Lion-O immediately stepped forward.

“H-hey, Panthro,” he said, not quite pulling off friendly nonchalance.

“Go away,” Panthro answered. He picked up a giant hammer and started bashing away. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Lion-O processed that for about two seconds. “Oh, come on!” he burst out, sounding much more like himself. “You really just going to ignore us forever? What are you so grumpy about, anyway?”

Something made a little growling noise, and Felline’s ears pricked forward.

“You’re standing on my samoflange,” Panthro rumbled.

“Ah!” Lion-O performed a sort of hop-step and stumbled backward, eliciting the funny little growl. Felline bit her lips on a giggle.

“Sorry,” Lion-O added. He cleared his throat before trying for nonchalance again. “Look, m-maybe I can help. I-I’ve dabbled in a little tech myself.”

The big cat stood, turning his one good eye on the young redhead. Bushy black sideburns cruised down his jaw, making a square of his whole face. “The ThunderTank’s out of thundrilium,” he said at last. “Now I’ve gotta risk my hide to get more at the Cloud Peak Mine.”

He pointed over their heads, and Felline stood up to get a better look. A white pillar of rock thrust straight up from the ground, so high that its peak vanished behind wreaths of cloud. Thundrilium. She’d never heard of it. Was that what powered her rifle? She turned, catching Lion-O’s eye, and for once, he seemed to understand her. He nodded.

“If you’re going after thundrilium, we’re coming with you,” he said.

Panthro’s scowl did not soften. “Let me put this as respectfully as I can,” he said with a sigh. He looked Lion-O solidly in the eye. “No.”

“I am the king now, General,” Lion-O returned, bristling.

Lightly for a cat so large, Panthro hopped off the tank and landed in front of Lion-O, his dark harem pants fluttering. “Fine. If you slow me down or get in my way, you’re on your own. Any questions?”

His callousness astonished them all. Here they’d found another Thunderian survivor, and he was threatening to abandon them. For once, even the kittens had been struck dumb. Finally, though, Tygra raised his hand.

“What’s a samoflange?”

..::~*~::..

Deciding who would stay and who would go should have been simple. It was not. They argued about it for a full fifteen minutes.

Panthro was going and wanted no part of any of them.

Lion-O was going and didn’t care what anyone else said or thought.

Tygra, being the elder, was not going to be left behind.

Cheetara, being a cleric, didn’t ask permission.

Felline thought she had every right to accompany them.

The kittens didn’t want to be left alone.

Yet, when WilyKit and WilyKat started yawning, it was decided the twins should remain with the ThunderTank. They’d all been awake for the better part of two days, after all.

This was all right with Felline until Lion-O told her to stay with them.

She tried to go anyway, but Tygra grabbed her arm and steered her back, while Cheetara explained that the fewer of them infiltrated the mine, the better chance they had of succeeding. Mumm-Ra’s army controlled the mine, or at least that was what Panthro said. The whole mountain was crawling with lizards and who knew what else.

Of course, Felline had already figured that out for herself. She slapped Tygra away. _Don’t ever touch me again._

“Stay,” he said sternly, glowering down at her. As if she were a kitten to be ordered around. A halfwit. A dog.

“Wait for us here,” Lion-O told her and the kittens. “We’ll be back before dark.”

“If we don’t all die first,” Panthro added.

Fuming, Felline watched them go. Kit and Kat waved to Cheetara and Tygra, but she folded her arms obstinately across her chest. She could hear Panthro and Lion-O arguing.

“You sure have a motley crew on your hands, kid. It’s a miracle you survived this long without any adult supervision.”

“We’ve been doing just fine under my command.”

“If you wanna stay alive you’re gonna have to listen to me.”

_“I’m_ the king now, Panthro.”

Then the trees swallowed them up, and they were gone.

..::~*~::..

Tired as she was, Felline could not get to sleep. Judging by the restless tossing and turning from the bunk above her, neither could WilyKit.

After thirty seconds or so of continued rustling, Kit’s short ponytail appeared, then the top of her pink- and purple-striped head. A second later, Kat’s brown and white stripes appeared as well. They pressed their noses into the mattress, just their eyes showing big and yellow and upside-down in the dim interior of the tank.

Felline sighed and sat up.

“We can’t sleep,” Kat said unnecessarily.

“Do you know any stories?” Kit asked hopefully.

Stories? Well, of course, she did. Fairy tales, the kind everybody knew. She pushed her blanket off her legs. Once upon a time, the ThunderTank would have been nothing but a fairy tale to her, and now here it was, larger than life. Kind of like its owner.

She cast a weary eye about. The interior was cramped and utilitarian. All by itself, the tank had darkened its front windows and closed up the back doors, but Felline hadn’t been able to figure out how to turn off the beady red lights that ran along the floor. One of them kept stabbing its tiny beam into her closed eyelids when she lay down. Plus, there were only four narrow bunks, two that folded out from the upper walls and two that were formed from the rows of seats below those. When the others returned, several someones would be sleeping on the floor. It was a strange space full of strange, astringent smells. No wonder the kittens were restless.

Felline looked up at them, cocking one ear forward and one back. _If I can’t speak, how can I tell you a story?_

WilyKat flipped off the bunk, landing with the grace of a professional acrobat. “How come you don’t talk?” he wanted to know.

WilyKit flipped off the bunk, too. “We don’t even know your name,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

“Are you a spy?”

“Do you work for Mumm-Ra?”

“Like Grune?”

“And the lizards?”

They fired off the questions one after another like a pair of seasoned interrogators, bending closer at the waist with each one until they pushed nose to nose with Felline. Backed into the wall, hands up to defend herself, Felline giggled. Was she afraid of a pair of kittens?

“Hey, what’s so funny?” Kit pouted.

Kat went from suspicious to excited with a snap of his pale fingers. “Hey, Sis, maybe she’s under a spell!”

“Ooo! A spell!” WilyKit clapped her hands together in delight. “Like in _The Sorcerer and the Lioness?”_

“Ew, not that kissy stuff,” WilyKat said, screwing up his nose. “What kind of cat is so stupid that she gets stuffed in a painting for a hundred years?”

WilyKit gasped at this criticism of a beloved character. “She’s not stupid –”

“Is too! Without the Lion, she’d never wake up!”

“That’s because men are only good for one thing!”

Trying not to laugh, Felline reached forward and scooped Kat into the bunk with her, breaking up their fight before it could get worse. She wondered if Kit knew exactly what it was she’d just said, or if she was merely repeating something she’d once heard. Settling WilyKat next to her, she held out her arm to WilyKit, inviting her to join them.

Kit did, eagerly, but she frowned. “In the story, the Sorcerer traps the Lioness because he falls in love with her, but the Lion frees her by kissing her. Do you think if Lion-O kissed you, you’d be able to talk?”

Tucking the scratchy, drab blanket around the kittens, Felline scrunched up her nose. _No way._

With a huff, Kat rolled onto his stomach. Small as they were, three occupants were still two too many for the bunk. Felline tried to hide a wince as sharp kitten elbows and knees jabbed her. Someone sat on her tail.

“Lion-O’s not a prince anymore, he’s a king. And she’s not a lioness,” he said fretfully. He rubbed his eyes. “And I still can’t sleep.”

“Tell me more about El-Dara,” WilyKit said.

“Yeah! El-Dara! Have you ever heard of it?” Kat asked. He watched Felline closely as he pulled a tube of parchment out of his bag.

When she shook her head, he carefully unrolled the tattered sheet of parchment across the pillow. “El-Dara is the City of Treasure. Kit and I are going to find it and live like lions for the rest of our lives. All we need is the map.”

He talked for a long time, while he and his sister stared at the parchment with shining eyes. It seemed to be a page torn from a book, with a single ink drawing of a fantastical city and a magical palace. WilyKat charmed them all with tales of the wealth – money and food – they would claim in El-Dara.

It was a sweet dream. Felline smoothed Kat’s thick mane and dared to give Kit a kiss on her small forehead when the kittens’ eyelids drooped, and they finally fell asleep.

Felline wondered how they had come to be here. Orphans, most certainly, who had been living on their own for who knew how long, relying only on each other. The fact that they hadn’t given in to despair said a lot for them. In their sleep, they cuddled closer, bony knees and fluffy tails curled in, and she let herself drift off.

..::~*~::..

The night was quiet.

Then a couple of ThunderTank engines ripped to life.

Felline couldn’t believe how loudly a pair of kittens could snore. Groggily, she dragged herself headfirst out of the bunk and crawled on her hands and knees toward the back of the tank, which then obligingly opened for her with a hydraulic hiss.

She was hungry, but there wasn’t any food. She didn’t feel right leaving the kittens alone to go hunt. Instead, she clambered up the outside of the tank and sat cross-legged on the roof, her rifle across her lap.

Absently, she played with the silver bob, rubbing her thumb over the royal seal on the back. She flipped it into the air and caught it. Heads, the others would return with thundrilium. Tails, they would not.

Flip. Heads. She studied the profile stamped on it. No. It didn’t really look like him.

Flip. Tails. What would she do if they failed? Where could she go, with two kittens in tow?

Flip. Heads. WilyKit was so cute. It felt like a thousand years since she, Felline, had believed in fairy tales. As if a kiss could solve anybody’s problems.

Flip. Heads again. He wasn’t like the princes in the tales, anyway. He was such a cub, headstrong and irritating.

Flip. Tails. No, that was no good. She was sure they were coming back.

Flip. Heads. Still, there was something magnetic about him. Maybe it was too quiet when he was gone. Not that he ever talked to her.

Flip. Tails. Besides, he had a thing for Cheetara.

Flip. Tails. It wasn’t like she liked him, or anything.

Right. Felline flipped again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a subtle change come over Cloud Peak. All the way up the mountain tower, puffs of pulverized rock spewed outward, glittering in the triple moonlight. A second later, she could hear the explosions, muffled by distance. Then the night stilled.

Felline glanced at the coin. Heads. She smiled.

Lying on her stomach, she pushed off the rifle’s safety and settled in to wait.

..::~*~::..

By the time the others returned, two lizards lay dead under the morning sun, both shot clean through the heart. They’d been escapees from the crumbling mine, had perhaps been separated from the rest of their unit, and hadn’t realized what they’d stumbled onto before Felline’s bolts had pierced their scaly chests.

From her vantage point atop the tank, Felline lifted her head and took her finger off the trigger. She recognized Panthro in the trees. Lion-O, Tygra, and Cheetara emerged in a line behind him. She stood up, waving in welcome. One eyebrow raised, Panthro eyed the reptilian corpses. He punched open a panel in the tank, produced a glittery, sharp-edged, pink crystal from his sash, and dropped it in.

“Looks like things are taken care of here. I’m beat,” Tygra said through a huge yawn. He put his arms overhead, stretched until his back popped, and then trudged into the tank.

“Wait, what about breakfast?” Lion-O called after him.

“Get it yourself,” Tygra said, already out of sight.

Lion-O looked beseechingly at Cheetara, but the cleric put a gentle hand on his arm and said, “There will be time enough later. We should get some rest while we can.”

Lion-O scowled.

“This one’s yours,” Panthro said when he joined Felline. He tossed a tiny chip of crystal at her. “Now clear off. I have work to do.”

She made a face at his broad back. He wasn’t going to scare her away that easily. She put the crystal in her pocket and stayed right where she was. She was curious about this big, taciturn cat, and grateful that they’d not only found another survivor but one who had so much more experience than they. If she was honest with herself, she felt safer in his presence than she did with all of the others combined.

Several minutes passed in silence on her part, close-lipped industriousness on his. Then, his activity ceased. He slowly turned his head, as if praying she wouldn’t still be there.

She smiled at him.

He sighed, and then went back to his repairs. “They tell me you don’t talk much.”

For an answer, she scooted over to him and leaned close, ears pricked forward in interest, to watch him work.

He glowered at her from under beetled brows, his hammer poised high and unmoving. “What’s the matter? Were you wounded?”

Felline thought about that for a long time, but she shook her head and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. No, she wasn’t wounded. Not exactly. However, now that she’d been mute for so long, she didn’t know if she could still talk. She was almost afraid to find out.

“Huh.” He went back to work, his big fingers working deftly. All the while, he muttered under his breath. Something about keeping a blasted foot off his samoflange. Suddenly, he threw the tool he’d been using down in disgust. “Hand me that spud wrench, will you?”

That what _what?_ Felline turned to the dented metal toolbox, which was right next to her, and peered into it without touching anything. The last thing she needed was to bump his precious samoflange – whatever it was – and make it growl at her.

This was her chance to make friends, though. She could figure this out, she was sure. She peered at the nubby thing he’d been working on. After a moment, her white hand darted into the box and came up with a long, black tool that looked like it might fit. She held it out to him.

He stared at her with his mismatched, pouchy eyes, one milky gray and the other clear brown, and then a corner of his wide mouth lifted in a smirk. He accepted the tool. “All right. You could be useful. Just keep the noise down. And hold this still.”

Felline grinned at him. Together, they crouched over the panel, and she steadied a loose piece of metal for him by putting most of her weight in her hands.

“Hey, isn’t anybody else hungry?” Lion-O said. He popped up over the edge of the tank. His resemblance to WilyKat at that moment was powerful, right up to the big eyes, although his were that complicated shade of blue instead of wildcat gold.

Guiltily, Felline looked away. She was hungry. Maybe she should go out hunting. It wouldn’t take all that long. The fire would have driven game toward the river –

“Sure,” Panthro said to the spud wrench, breaking into her thoughts. “Why don’t you go find us some eggs or somethin’.” He examined his handiwork, and then added in a sarcastic drawl, “Your Majesty.”

Lion-O’s expression almost made Felline feel sorry for him. Almost. She tried – and failed – to hold in a breathy laugh as the Lord of the ThunderCats stalked off like a sulky child.

..::~*~::..

“Is this the place?” Tygra’s voice floated out of the ThunderTank, sharp with disbelief. “I don’t see anything here.”

“Looks like it’s the end of the line,” Panthro rumbled in response.

“Are you sure this is where Cheetara told us to go?”

“Look, kid, you ask her and stop harassing me.”

Felline glanced toward the tank. Cheetara was down by the river, taking her turn at bathing. It would be a few minutes yet before she came back and put a stop to whatever argument was brewing in there.

Felline could understand why Tygra thought that Panthro might have the answers, since he knew so much already. He’d told them a little about his journey with Grune to find the Book of Omens. Especially near the end when Grune started acting oddly. Secretive. Restless. Insomniac – and that when he did sleep, it was wracked with nightmares. Eventually, the sabertoothed cat had succumbed to his madness and led his partner straight into Mumm-Ra’s hands.

For Mumm-Ra was real. Panthro had seen him, had actually escaped his lair. But Grune had stayed. And Grune, in thrall to Mumm-Ra, had brought about the fall of Thundera.

Felline returned her attention to the pair of red-lensed goggles she’d lifted off a dead lizard. Contentment filled her the way leftover meat from yesterday’s hunts and the sweet yellow fruit they’d harvested from the trees filled her belly, and the way the bright morning light warmed the forest. She perched atop a hollow log, its mossy bark dry and crumbly beneath her thighs.

Why did the lizards wear these goggles? She pried at the joints, testing the strap. She put them to her eyes and tilted her head back, but darkness assaulted her vision instead of the leaves rustling against the blue sky. It didn’t seem strategically sound to blind one’s soldiers. Turning one of the lenses, she noticed that it telescoped in and out. They must be useful, or so many of Mumm-Ra’s lizards wouldn’t carry them.

From above, a loud belch caused a few avians to take flight. WilyKit and WilyKat burst out laughing. Wild and unrestrained, Kit started snorting, which made them laugh harder. Kat could barely speak, but he managed something that sounded like an impressed, “All right, Snarf!”

She shook her head. They were up a tree, naturally. She couldn’t believe they were still eating. Then again, once kittens knew the pangs of real hunger they became like bottomless stomachs, and sometimes it seemed like Snarf ate for pleasure rather than any kind of need. Which was ridiculous, of course.

Several of Panthro’s tools lay at Felline’s feet. He trusted her more and more with his things since she’d proven to be of use in maintaining the finicky tank. Being half his height, she could wedge into tighter places, use tools on a smaller scale, and get her hands in where he couldn’t. She selected the long-handled knife meant for electrical work and began disassembling the wiring behind one of the lenses. The casing itself had been cracked, but the red glass was still intact. If she could just get the power flowing again –

“Hey. Mind if I join you?”

The honest answer was yes, but Lion-O didn’t wait for her to speak. He sat next to her on the crumbling log. “What do you have there?”

Just because he was bored, she had to provide entertainment? Fantastic. Warily, Felline held up the goggles so he could see them.

He grinned. “Nice. Where did you get those?”

She shrugged.

“Yeah,” he said, frowning, a look that clearly told her what he thought of her silence, and it wasn’t flattering. Then he hitched a smile back in place, obviously hoping to soften her up. “Let me have a look.”

When he reached for the goggles, however, she jerked them away.

“Come on, let me see,” he said.

She shook her head, and then swapped the electrical knife for a double-edged chisel and began grinding at the raised edge of the crack, hoping he’d take the hint and go away. She didn’t want him messing with what was hers. It wasn’t like he was completely ignorant when it came to technology. She knew that, but she’d found them; she would fix them; she would use them; he could pound sand.

“I’m not going to hurt them, I just want to look,” he insisted, reaching once more.

Ears easing back, she fended him off with her elbow, starting a lopsided game of Keep Away. She tried twisting her shoulders, but that didn’t work, either. Finally, she hoisted the goggles in one hand, putting the other flat against his chest. She pushed at him, shaking her head.

He paid no attention to her signals. Apparently feeling playful, he persevered. Furious, she held the goggles higher, but his arms were longer than hers, and he was going to get them. Felline leaned as far from him as she could without losing her seat, but he leaned with her, grinning. “Gimme.”

His claws scraped against the casing. Felline put a foot in his stomach, moving the heel of her palm to his jaw. They teetered, straining against each other. Felline growled at him, tail lashing.

“What are you _doing?”_ Tygra asked.

Both Lion-O and Felline looked over at him. Felline felt her face warm. Tygra and Panthro stood with their arms crossed over their chests, their expressions plainly showing that they thought she and Lion-O were crazy. Or stupid. Or both. Behind them, Cheetara appeared, finger-combing her long, yellow hair.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

The hollow log cracked with a sound like a gunshot. The brittle wood broke under their combined weight, dumping Felline to the ground with Lion-O on top of her.

_Ow_ . . . She squeezed her eyes shut against tears of pain, her arms splayed over her head, a winded Lion-O struggling to suck in a breath against her neck with one of her knees planted in his solar plexus.

“What _are_ you doing?” Panthro muttered. Lion-O’s weight disappeared.

“Put me down,” Lion-O wheezed. Felline, who had rolled onto her side, gasping for breath, heard rather than saw rapid footsteps in the grass. “I just wanted to see this.”

No! She sat up so fast her head spun. Her hands were empty.

He’d picked up the goggles. Felline sprang at him, but he dodged her. Twice. Three times. Her temper rose higher with each attempt.

Then, Lion-O was no longer holding the goggles. He turned to Cheetara, who looked as if she hadn’t moved. “Hey!”

“That’s not nice, Lion-O,” Cheetara chided gently. “She obviously doesn’t want you to have them.”

“Tough,” he responded, snatching them back from her. “She needs to learn to share.”

If they weren’t careful, they were going to break the goggles. Fuming, Felline clenched her fists and shouted, “I’m not a cub! I was born in the Year of the Rooster. Stop talking about me like I’m not here!”

Dead silence. Felline felt ten feet tall. Like there was a river in full flood rushing through her body. She could talk. She could talk! Everything she’d wanted to say since she’d met the ThunderCats came pouring out of her. Her voice, unused to regulation, echoed around the small clearing.

_“You,”_ she said, advancing on Lion-O, who, incredibly, backed up, eyes wide. “You keep walking around like the world owes you a favor. Grow up! Do you think you’re the only one who’s lost something? My twin sister died in Thundera that night! The lizards killed her, and I left her there. My father, too – he is a commander in your palace guard. His name is Snow. Where is he now? Did he die for you? Answer me!”

Some of the shock left Lion-O’s face. He calmly watched her scream. Or, not so calmly – Felline could tell that she was hurting him, but she didn’t care.

“You wanted to leave me to die,” she continued, her words wobbling like a spinning top about to fall. “Because I would be a burden, get in your way. Let me ask you this: What is a king without a kingdom? What is a kingdom? A city? A palace? Or is it the animals? Without your cats, you are the Lord of Nothing!”

Tygra looked distinctly uncomfortable now. Panthro, on the other hand, wore a calculating expression.

“You even tried to get us killed on the sandsea!” Felline went ranting on. “Yet we stayed, every one of us, because we have nowhere else to go. Because we know that unless Mumm-Ra is stopped, all of Third Earth will plunge into war, and he will enslave the world.” She broke down, her words catching on dry sobs. “I’ve been watching and listening this whole time. I know what it is we have to do. What you have to do. It’s not going to be easy. We might not make it out alive. You could be a little nicer to me.”

It was Cheetara who stepped forward. Felline swallowed, feeling emptier than she ever had now that the flood had abated. She could tell Cheetara hadn’t liked her yelling at Lion-O because Cheetara’s sunset eyes were slits even though her coral-pink lips were smiling.

“Can you tell us your name?” Cheetara asked.

“Felline of the Snow Leopard Clan,” she said. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “My name is Felline.”

“I see.” Cheetara paused. “You’re right, Felline. We do have something important to do.”

Her smile widened, and the shade of disapproval left her face as if it had never been there. She lifted her sun-yellow head, turning her bright smile on their king. “Jaga’s clues have gotten us this far. Now it’s up to Lion-O to get us the rest of the way.”

She’d succeeded in distracting everyone. Without a word, Panthro ambled over to the ThunderTank with the kittens. Tygra, however, snapped his fingers.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” he said to Felline. He put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You look just like him. I’m sorry, but Commander Snow was on the front lines with us.”

He didn’t need to say any more than that. Ears drooping, Felline whispered, “Thank you,” and he, too, walked away. She let him go, Bastien’s name tasting like ash on her tongue.

Lion-O roughly pushed the goggles at her with a muttered, “Sorry.”

He didn’t leave, however. He appeared to be thinking hard about something.

He blurted, “Are you really a year older than me?”

Disgusted, Felline gave him Stink Eye, holding his gaze until he looked away first.


	7. Chapter Seven

The only reason Felline escaped further humiliation was that Cheetara insisted Lion-O use his birthright to point the way.

“Sword of Omens,” he said, putting the hilt up to his face so that the elaborate hand guard curled up around his eyes and the Eye of Thundera rested over his forehead, “give me Sight Beyond Sight.”

He had his back to them, where all but Snarf had claimed seats on top of the ThunderTank. Even though Felline couldn’t see his face, she could see by the rigid set of his shoulders that the Sword wasn’t obeying.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” he muttered to the dormant Eye. He squeezed the Sword’s grip as if hoping to force cooperation out of it. She could picture his expression, eyebrows lowered, mouth stubborn. He took up the same posture, the silver blade rising vertically above his head. “Sword of Omens, give me Sight Beyond Sight.”

He oriented himself toward a wall of vine-like tree trunks, tall and impassable. That was why they had decided to stop here in the first place – jungle had overrun the benign forest, and there was nowhere left to go. It was quiet there in the clearing. Even though it was a bit too warm for Felline’s tastes, she appreciated how the morning light turned a dark green as it filtered through the canopy of leaves, utterly still and peaceful.

“Aw, come on, work!” Lion-O growled in frustration, as far from peace as a cat could get.

“Are you telling me our only chance of finding the Book of Omens is if his sword gives him directions?” Panthro asked Cheetara in his slow, exasperated way.

Tygra grinned. “It’s about as hopeless as it sounds,” he said.

“Lion-O can get us there. He just needs to believe in himself,” Cheetara said sharply. “It might help if you believed in him, too.”

That shut Tygra up. Cheetara lithely hopped off the tank and walked toward Lion-O without a backward glance. The prince’s gaze never left her.

Felline, though she could have, chose not to say anything. It was evident Lion-O was out of sorts. Although she doubted the others could hear him swearing under his breath, she couldn’t help her excellent ears. She suspected his mood was her fault. She felt terrible for yelling at him but had no idea what she should do about it. Apologize? Maybe, but not in front of everyone else.

“This is dumb!” Lion-O exploded, lowering the Sword after a third botched attempt. He tilted the blade, catching the sun on its mirrored surface as if hoping to see the answers there instead. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“Sometimes when you look too hard you miss what is right in front of you,” Cheetara said in her customary gentle voice, which hovered at the edge of a smile. She closed the distance between them.

“Tell me about it,” Lion-O said in an undertone.

Although the kittens had lost interest, Tygra and Panthro sat at an angle, straining to pick up what Felline could hear even if she stuck her fingers in her ears, which she was sorely tempted to do. Watching Cheetara flirt with Lion-O embarrassed her in a painful way. She wished the cleric wasn’t quite so open with her feelings and didn’t encourage the same in others. Some things were meant to stay private.

Unaware of Felline’s opinion, Cheetara leaned in close, putting one hand on Lion-O’s spaulder, pressed up against his back so that she could whisper in his pointed ear.

“If you can master Sight Beyond Sight, it will show you what your eyes can’t see, but your mind has to be open.” Her glossy coral lips spread in a smile. “Now, try again. And this time, relax.”

As if he could, with her breasts smashed against him like that. Felline mimed a gag, earning a squint from Panthro, but at least Cheetara put some space between herself and Lion-O so that he could concentrate. That was when Felline noticed WilyKat leading his sister silently through the tree branches, stopping only when they were right above the oblivious couple on the ground.

Contact in five . . . four . . .

“Relax,” Lion-O repeated, and let out a breath. “Got it.”

Felline rolled her eyes. As if. Being in Cheetara’s proximity had him wound up six ways from Sunday.

. . . one.

“Whatcha doin’?” Kat asked in his chirpy voice, upside-down and nose to nose with Lion-O, causing the king to grow an inch taller in surprise.

Kit dropped out of the tree and landed on her toes. “Ooo-ooo-ooo, _I_ know what they were doing,” she singsonged gleefully. She began making loud kissing noises, her tail undulating suggestively.

“No,” Lion-O blustered. “We were just – trying to get – my – sword to work,” he finished lamely, losing steam at the end. Innocently wide kitten eyes had that effect on just about everyone, and Cheetara had left him to flounder alone.

Panthro lost interest. Shaking his head, the big cat slid off the tank and disappeared to complete some of the ongoing repairs. Arms crossed, Tygra stayed where he was, frowning. Felline gravitated toward the kittens when WilyKit, her small face serious, asked, “Why is this book so hard to find, anyway?”

WilyKat let himself down next to his sister, equally serious. “Did they forget where they put it?”

Cheetara smiled indulgently at them. “In a way, yes,” she answered.

Felline put her hands behind her back when she reached them, wordlessly asking Lion-O’s permission to be that near, but all of his attention was focused on Cheetara.

“You see, the Book of Omens wasn’t lost,” the cleric explained. “Rather, it was hidden, with the intention that it would never be found.”

Panthro’s head popped out of the ThunderTank.

“Legend says the Book of Omens held clues both to our past, and keys to our future,” Cheetara went on. “Because some believed it could be even more valuable than the Sword of Omens, the other animals would stop at nothing to get it. The king knew it contained too much power to allow it to fall into the wrong hands, so he had the clerics hide it, far beyond the kingdom walls.” She paused, solemn, and then said, “Far beyond anywhere the cats had ever been.

“To keep it safe, they built a temple. One made with magic. Protected by ancient enchantments, the Tower of Omens was inaccessible to anyone but themselves. They then sealed themselves into the temple, forever.”

It felt like one of Master Korvu’s lessons. Forgetting that it wasn’t her sister speaking, Felline asked, “If that’s true, if no one came back, then how do you know all this?”

Cheetara and Lion-O glared at her.

“Its location would be a secret they took to their grave,” Cheetara said, her hand on her shapely hip.

“Exactly. If the clerics sealed themselves inside their tower, no one could possibly know what had happened to them or what they had done.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Cheetara said. She flipped her spotted hair over her shoulder. “You have never been inside the clerisy. Magic is a force beyond the comprehension of normal cats.”

Surprised, Felline backed up a step. She had not meant to sound like she was accusing Cheetara of lying, she had just been looking for the facts. Surprise turned to anger, and she closed her lips on apologies and explanations. She and Cheetara narrowed their eyes at each other, causing Kit’s and Kat’s mouths to hang open.

Panthro joined them and blandly said, “That’s why Grune and I knew we’d probably never find it.”

“So we have to just get lucky and hope we stumble onto it?” Tygra asked incredulously.

A babble of voices rose up, growing steadily more irritated. The discussion might have gone on for a lot longer, but Snarf accidentally caused a minor avalanche of hard yellow fruit.

“Meyao,” he said dizzily. He sat up on his branch, his paws wrapped around one of the ball-like fruits. Behind him, no longer hidden by the harvest, a carved stone lion head gazed out at them all, its mouth open in a roar.

“Maybe we just did,” Lion-O said to his brother, his whole aspect changing from gloom to anticipation in an instant. He walked up to the lion head, grasped a few desiccated vines, and yanked, revealing a tunnel of smooth bricks.

“How did we not see that?” Cheetara breathed, her argument with Felline forgotten.

Lion-O turned to her with one of his contagious smiles.

“Well, I guess sometimes when you look too hard, you miss what’s right in front of you,” he said in a voice meant for her ears alone. Then he tilted his head back. “Nice work, Snarf.”

“Nya!” Snarf said happily. He waited until the kittens passed below him and then dropped down onto WilyKit’s back to hitch a ride.

Felline studied the weathered lion head. This was it. The Book of Omens was almost in their grasp, and the light of adventure had kindled inside her. Like the others, she willingly followed her king into the tunnel.

Which turned out not to be a tunnel, but a bridge.

Bringing up the rear, Felline peered over the edge of the bridge, her night vision picking out the forest of tall, lethal spikes that carpeted the floor of the cavernous room.

“I don’t like the look of that,” she murmured. The kittens and Snarf knelt at the edge and made identical noises of dismay.

With what little ambient light was available, Felline couldn’t tell how big the room was, or even if the bridge and walls were made of metal or stone. Like her rifle, it seemed to be some kind of in-between material. It was deathly quiet. The cold, spike-bottomed room demanded a hushed respect. Felline tucked her hands under her arms.

Lion-O approached the far wall, where another lion’s head frieze roared silently at them, its mane freakishly spread out like tentacles around its disembodied face. Within its open mouth, a door beckoned.

He put his hand on the red and blue design of a stylized cat’s eye – exactly the same shades as his mane and armor, Felline noted – and pushed experimentally. Nothing happened. Everyone but the kittens crowded around him on the narrow walkway for a closer examination. A small slot mocked them from the middle of the painted eye.

“Think they left the key behind?” Lion-O joked, giving Cheetara a rueful grin.

“Actually,” Tygra said, and he jerked his thumb toward the indistinct ceiling, “they left a few.”

They looked up. Metal keys glinted in the low lighting, dangling by wires thinner than a cat hair, twisting in unseen breaths of air.

“We’ll just have to try them all,” Cheetara said. She extended her staff and gave a gentle swipe with it. Jingling, three keys fell into her palm, their gossamer wires still attached.

Panthro said what Felline was thinking – “This could take forever.” – but Cheetara had already fitted the first random key into the lock in the center of the eye’s red, slotted pupil. She turned it. Something behind the door emitted a series of clunky, rusty groans and an ominous thud.

The door didn’t open.

Cheetara straightened, eyes wide, as what sounded like a wheezy crank started up. The walkway beneath their feet rumbled, buzzing against their soles.

“I don’t think we have forever,” Tygra said grimly.

WilyKat and Kit saw it first and chorused a warning: The bridge had separated from the entrance and was retracting. Fast.

Snarf yelped. He and the kittens sprinted toward the locked door. Felline, digging her claws into the unrelenting seam in the middle of it, didn’t know what they’d do once they caught up, but the truncated end of the walkway followed right on their heels. She knew that to stop was to fall into the carpet of tall, thin spikes below.

The kittens and Snarf reached the end a second before the walkway did. It sucked into the wall with a jerk right beneath them. With a collective shout, everyone jumped.

Everyone fell.

Felline latched her arms around the only reliable thing near her, which turned out to be Cheetara’s waist. She came up short, hanging on for dear life. She stared into Tygra’s dark eyes until she convinced her frantically pounding heart that they were safe, that they hadn’t fallen very far. WilyKit was wrapped around Tygra’s leg like a furry boot, and he had hooked a bemused Snarf out of the air. Tygra himself dangled from Lion-O’s ankle.

“Whiskers,” Lion-O whispered, and Felline looked up.

Cheetara was hugging Panthro’s baggy-trousered leg, and Lion-O was gripping two fistfuls of the general’s spiked vest. WilyKat perched on the big panther’s back, his tail twice the size of normal.

All eight cats were relying on the strength of Panthro’s fingers, sunken deep in the crumbling, inch-wide ledge beneath the locked door.

“Find the key!” Panthro managed to say in a strangled voice.

“How?” Felline asked with Cheetara’s hair in her face. She blew it out of her eyes in time to see a smiling Kit pass her, nimbly climbing up the chain of cats.

“Leave this to the masters,” Kat called down smugly.

“Hurry!” Lion-O grunted. “There’s hundreds to pick from.”

He wasn’t the only one making sounds of pain. Cheetara and Panthro both sounded like they were being pulled apart at the joints.

Above them, WilyKat stood on his sister’s head while she stood on Panthro’s as if they were all some sort of bizarre totem pole.

“Why waste time picking out a key –” Kit calmly said.

“– when you can just pick the lock?” finished Kat. Tiny scrapes and clicks bounced around the room, amplified by the high, empty walls, and then Felline heard another clunk.

Creaking and clanking, the halves of the door slid aside. The kittens disappeared. Tygra tossed Snarf through the new opening, and then stretched for Felline. Letting go of Cheetara, she grabbed his hand as she swung down and let him hoist her to the ledge on the upswing. Quickly, she got out of the way as one by one the other cats jumped up on their own. It took the combined effort of both brothers to haul Panthro to safety, though.

On his hands and knees, the general dragged himself through just as the doors slid shut again, locking them in. Felline crawled over to him, offering him a smile in the darkness when he raised his head. Panthro nodded at her and accepted her help in standing. Just one of his hands engulfed her arm up to the elbow.

“The Book could be just beyond that wall,” Lion-O said, his voice echoing oddly.

Felline turned around. They had discovered another room, very long like a tunnel, smaller than the first but still significant. The tunnel was hexagonal in shape, the walls bowing outward at the sides and then in at the ceiling, and consisted of uneven stone blocks.

Naturally, there was a door at the further end. This one was circular, with a comical feline face carved into it. Felline thought its expression was mocking them and put her ears back in distaste. They could have died back there in that first room. What new horror did this place have in store for them?

With a confidence no one else seemed to feel now that he was no longer hanging like a rack of meat, Panthro stepped forward.

His foot touched a stone tile. It sank under his weight.

With the slick rasp of metal on metal, a rotating sickle blade slid out of the wall, nearly shaving his crooked nose off his face. Faster than sound, Cheetara yanked the big cat backward as more of the whirling, shearing blades slid into view, blocking off the entire passage.

“Legend said the ancients rigged a series of obstacles near the temple, meant to keep outsiders away,” she said, her sunset eyes on the spinning blades. Some protruded into the tunnel vertically, some horizontally, and some retracted to appear again in another place. If there was a rhythm, Felline couldn’t trace it.

“Then this whole place is a death trap,” Panthro growled indignantly.

Ignoring him, Cheetara grinned fiercely. “Gotta move fast,” she said.

Before anyone could say anything else, she was off, a blur of sun-yellow in the dank, lethal corridor.

WilyKit clapped her hands over her mouth to keep in a shriek of surprise. So did Felline. Their anxiety lasted less than a second, however. Cheetara reappeared on the far side of the trap, sliding on her knees toward the cat-faced door. She stood, unharmed. Then, as if she’d known what to do all along, she raised her bo staff over her head and extended it.

The two ends of the staff pushed two separate panels back into the tilted walls, which seemed to deactivate the spinning sickle blades. They stilled and then retracted, leaving the way clear. Behind Cheetara, the stone door rolled aside with the grinding of giant molars.

A cheer bubbled up in Felline’s chest, and she let it out as she bounded toward Cheetara. No matter the hostile feelings between them, nothing could have beaten Cheetara’s feat of speed. The kittens whooped and hollered with her.

“Nice work,” Lion-O said, flipping Cheetara a thumbs-up as he ran by her.

Felline caught a glimpse of Cheetara’s face. She smiled, apparently pleased with herself and with his praise. When all had passed, she lowered her staff, jumped through the doorway, and let the door roll ponderously closed again.

Two traps down. How many more to go? Felline followed Lion-O into the next room. She stopped dead in her tracks.

For one wild, ridiculous moment, she felt like she’d returned to Thundera.

The déjà vu passed, and she could see clearly. This time, the room was square, built of the same stone blocks, but much brighter than the prior two. Two white-gold beams of light penetrated the gloom, angling into the stone basin in the center. Like Thundera’s great marble fountain, the basin was filled with clear water. The beams of light originated from two tiny apertures in one wall, which then reflected off the surface of the utterly still water and terminated at the eyes of a stone lion’s head in the opposite wall.

Felline frowned at the beams. What an odd way to light up the room. What was the source of the light? It wasn’t daylight, that was for sure. It was too bright, the color and direction both wrong.

WilyKit and WilyKat trotted forward, their tails waving happily since nothing spiky or sharp had accosted them. They leaned over the basin’s lip.

“Look, treasure!” Kit exclaimed.

She was right. The light multiplied in the basin, shining off mounds of gold and silver coins, heaps of lambent wealth. Like a magnet, the basin drew their eyes. The glittery lights beguiled them all, making Felline forget about possible traps.

“We’re rich!” Kat cried, and stuck his hand in the water.

“Wait!” Lion-O yelled, startling Felline, but WilyKat was busy gathering coins. Ripples spread out from his arm, disrupting the beams of light.

With a low growl, the stone eyes in the lion head, no longer in contact with the white light, glowed a menacing red.

To Felline’s absolute horror, the red lights flicked off, and a torrent of icy water poured from the lion’s open mouth. Floods cascaded from spouts set high above their heads. The treasure and both kittens vanished under a shimmering waterfall.

The twins reappeared a second later, coughing. The force of the water had knocked WilyKit flat, sweeping the kittens against a plinth. WilyKat picked his sister up hurriedly before she could get washed away. The water was already ankle deep.

Without a word, the cats scattered, splashing through the currents to get to the walls. Felline followed Tygra up to a ledge. He pushed her gently toward the center, angling her behind him, sharp eyes searching for their next haven.

“You okay, Panthro?” Kit asked from the next ledge, and Felline looked over curiously.

The big cat sat as far from the edge of a plinth as he could get, his bulky arms wrapped around his knees. Teeth chattering, eyes tightly shut, he said, “No. I never told you guys,” he paused, gulped, and then shouted in total mortification, “but I can’t swim!”

Felline and Tygra exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. Rushing, splashing, the water was still rising. Fast. The lion head spout sank below the surface, the ceiling now a lot closer to them than the floor. Though Felline didn’t need the assistance, Tygra helped her climb higher, giving her the occasional boost. The kittens hopped like bunnies, leading Panthro. They converged, Lion-O and Cheetara coming in from the right, Panthro and the kittens the left, as their available dry spaces dwindled.

“Looks like an exit up there!” Tygra called above the burbling, crashing water. He pointed to a grate perhaps two feet by three set into the ceiling. “We’ll wait for the water to rise and float up to it.”

Felline, her nose full of icy mist, sneezed. WilyKit and Kat sniffled. Swirling, the water clasped their feet, roped their knees, and bubbled at their elbows. The myriad currents pushed and pulled at them, corralling them in the center of the room. By the time it reached Felline’s neck, lifting her toes off the last ledge and setting her adrift, Panthro was in real trouble. She could hear him spluttering and flailing, but with the way the water was turning them about and throwing them against each other, she had no hope of assisting him.

Bobbing in the unruly waves, Cheetara extended her staff, digging and prying at the grate. “I can’t open it from this side,” she said, fear making her voice high and thin.

Felline got a faceful of water, making her sneeze again. She propelled herself away from the others, trying to avoid the cat-made eddies. She wasn’t worried about staying afloat; having grown up among the lakes, she was an excellent swimmer. But that wasn’t true for everyone.

“I ain’t gonna make it, kid,” Panthro gasped.

Felline, fending off the opposing currents so she wouldn’t get banged up against the wall, watched, aghast, as he sank noisily below the surface. Instantly, the king dove after his general.

“Lion-O!” she cried, and then started coughing as she got a mouthful of water.

Déjà vu returned, sinking sharp needles of fear into her heart. She’d thought she was clever that day in Thundera when she saw the silver bob at the bottom of the fountain and pretended it was the prince himself, needing to be rescued. The silly game of a bored, ignorant girl. He was underwater now, in the dark, and so was Panthro, and this was no game. She counted the seconds, waiting for them to resurface.

One. What if they didn’t come up? Two. They weren’t going to drown. Three. Lion-O . . .

At thirty-four, Lion-O burst out of the water, sucking in a huge lungful of air. “Panthro’s gone,” he gasped. Disbelief shone starkly in his eyes.

They were high enough now to reach the grate, but no matter how hard Tygra, Lion-O, and Cheetara pushed and shoved at it, it wouldn’t budge. Felline cracked her head on the unforgiving ceiling more than once as the water continued to rise.

There was no way Panthro could still be alive. Tears mixed with the water trapped in her fur, but she determinedly hauled both kittens to the center of their circle. Mewling, Kit and her brother hooked their little fingers in the grate, putting their faces against the icy metal, breathing the air that was escaping from it as if they could suck it back into their watery prison. The opening wasn’t big enough to admit all of them. Felline put her hands flat on the solid stone above her.

Even with no hope, they couldn’t stop fighting. Lion-O and Cheetara continued wrestling with the immovable grate, and Tygra was flush against Felline’s side, straining against the impermeable stone that continued to inch nearer. Her neck bent painfully as she pressed her cheek to the ceiling. Her eyes filled with water, and she could no longer hear anything because her ears did, too. The water crept up, covered her mouth. The air was gone.

Panicking, they poked their fingers through the slots of the grate, reaching for air, for freedom, seedlings stretching toward the first hints of sunlight. It was so cold, the water a glacial thunder in Felline’s ears.

Slowly, with each painful beat of her heart, the light dimmed.

_I’m going to drown,_ she thought distantly. What had started back in Foret was about to come true. They would die, and the ThunderCats would pass into unrecorded history.

Suddenly, the pressure against her hand vanished. She was swept sideways. Her head broke the surface. Clear, crisp sound returned. A babble of voices rose, deliriously happy: “Panthro! You’re alive!”

Someone seized her arm, lifting her out of the hole. Water streamed from her clothes and splashed on stone, and then she was lowered gently, cradled by strong arms. Exhausted, she lay still, eyes closed, grateful for the simple motion of air moving effortlessly in and out of her lungs and the absence of the battering currents.

“Guess not being able to swim has its advantages,” Panthro rumbled. He tersely explained about the porthole he’d discovered at the bottom of the water room. It had opened into a chute that had led him upward to safety. If he hadn’t sunken like that, he would never have found the way out.

“It was a trick,” Cheetara said in astonishment.

“They’ve all been tricks,” Tygra grumbled. “Everything about this place is meant to lead us in the wrong direction.”

His deep, angry voice reverberated. Felline opened her eyes in dismay. Weren’t they out of this crazy death trap yet?

Panthro tossed aside the grate, and it made a satisfying clang against the floor. Tygra helped Cheetara to her feet, and the kittens checked each other over.

Felline looked up into Lion-O’s smiling face. She was lying halfway in his lap. He let her use his arm to stand.

“You okay?” he asked.

Once, she’d pretended to save him from drowning. Apparently, he’d returned the favor in an all too real way.

“Yes. Thank you,” she whispered.

His attention had already moved on to something else. He cast his gaze warily about this new room.

Which was blacker than any room yet. The only light came from below, muted blue through the glacial water draining out of the last trap. Perversely, the light made it impossible to see anything else.

All of Felline’s wet fur stood on end. Now that the sounds of water had diminished, she could hear something else. A piercing, high-pitched whine that was terribly familiar.

“Nobody move!” she said sharply.

“We’re not,” Tygra said, startled by her tone.

“We’ve learned our lesson,” WilyKat said, a sentiment his sister fervently seconded. Felline waved a quelling hand at them in the darkness.

The whine changed, going higher than even Felline could hear, and then it stopped with a loud poff.

Thousands of tiny lights popped into blinding brilliance. They were everywhere, outlining each smooth, stone-metal tile, embedded in the seams of the white walls, blanketing the ceiling, covering the floor. They were brighter than Felline thought possible, burning white-hot and growing painful.

Lion-O and Panthro both snarled through the searing whiteness, and Cheetara shouted, “What’s happening?”

“I can’t see!” Kit wailed.

“No one can,” Tygra said irritably.

“Well, we can’t just stand here all day!” Lion-O said.

It was the sound that tipped her off. It was still there, very faint. Felline squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on it. “Quiet,” she whispered. “Just wait.”

They obeyed, their soft breathing the only interruption.

She knew that sound. It was the noise of machinery, of electricity, of technology. With the adrenaline of discovery speeding up her thought process, she started putting the pieces together in her head. Electrical power was the answer to all of these mysteries. Closed circuits and coded instructions, clear-cut mathematical algorithms, set in motion by their actions.

The bridge. The wrong key had triggered the first trap, but it had taken electrical power and knowledge of machines to build a walkway that could disappear. In the second trap, the sinking stone block had closed a circuit and sent the command to the rotating sickle blades. In the third – why, that one was the most obvious. The light beams had been artificial, as had the glowing red eyes in the lion head. Mechanisms in the walls had released the deluge.

“This isn’t magic,” she breathed, trembling with wonder and certainty. “It’s tech. Whatever those clerics built here, it’s all machinery.”

“I wouldn’t have believed it possible,” Cheetara said after a moment, grudging admiration in her voice. “The ancients must have used our own taboos against us. They wanted to make sure no one got to the tower.”

“A legend grows from truth,” Felline agreed. “Truth gets lost with each retelling. Technology becomes magic.”

“That’s all well and good,” Tygra huffed, “but how do we get out of this? We’re blind!”

“I might not be!” Excitedly, Felline snapped her goggles over her eyes, and all the whiteness turned black. She fumbled with the power switch. The jury-rigged energy pack emitted the same whine as the lights. The blackness lit up into solid red. Several strange, unreadable symbols stabbed at her eyes. Then the lenses blanked, the color evened out, and she could see.

Everything was awash in crimson, but it was no darker than normal daylight. Dripping, Lion-O and the others rubbed their eyes. They were either trying to block the intrusive light or cracking their lids the tiniest bit, pinching them shut right away. Miraculously, they were standing in the only safe place in the whole room. It looked like a cage made of the thinnest wire but was really contained light beams that appeared as no more than lines of brighter red to Felline’s enhanced vision. The light bulbs in the walls, floor, and ceiling emitted the beams at irregular intervals, some millimeters apart, others intersecting after a few feet.

Snarf, perched on Tygra’s shoulder, flicked his tufted tail, which passed through one of the beams.

Instantly, the wall opened fire. There was a sizzle, the stench of burned cat hair, several shrieks, and Snarf hit the floor heavily.

“Don’t move, nobody move!” Felline screamed over the cries of her friends. The last thing they needed was for the beams to kill someone else. But was Snarf dead? _Please let him be okay, please!_

She gathered her weight in her legs. Then, in a short series of hops, she navigated the spaces between the beams and crouched by the small red bundle on the floor. Mouth dry, she knelt and put her palm on Snarf’s side, checking for signs of life.

Snarf sat up abruptly, eyes crossed, fur crinkled and smoking, making Felline jump.

“Aaah!” she screamed.

“Felline!” Lion-O cried. He dropped into a fighting crouch, feet wide on the slick, wet floor. He snarled in frustration, still unable to see.

“I’m okay,” she assured him quickly, her heart speeding up for an entirely different reason. That was the first time he’d said her name. She bent over the petcat, changing the subject in her mind, focusing on the real problem. “Snarf is, too.”

“Snyah,” Snarf said dizzily. With every passing second, he looked more alert. Shaking water out of his shaggy coat, he stood up and blinked his big eyes at Felline. Of them all, he seemed the least bothered by the bright light.

“Good,” Lion-O murmured. Snarf meant a great deal to him, Felline knew. He had his back to her, but she could see the sag of relief across his shoulders. She could also see the beam humming right between his feet and hoped he could hold that position for a little longer.

She had to get the beams turned off and the door open – she could see that, too, at the far end of the room, this time bearing a carving of the Eye of Thundera – and to do that, she had to cut power to the tiny burning lights.

Well, what if she shot them out?

She unholstered her rifle, drew a bead on a random bulb, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

With a hissed curse, she examined the power readout and saw that it was dead across the board. She shook the rifle, listening for a telltale sloshing. It was waterlogged.

Great. How was it that the goggles were working, but not the rifle? Maybe Jorma’s craftsmanship wasn’t up to lizard standards. She unsnapped the battery casing and removed the power pack, hoping it would dry in her pocket, before holstering the gun.

Then she looked at Snarf and got a better idea.

“I need your help,” she said, kneeling by him.

He cocked his head to the side. “Nya?”

While the others waited, she told him her plan. He listened as if understanding every word.

“Absolutely not,” Lion-O interjected when she was done.

“Why not?” She frowned at him, forgetting that he couldn’t see her. “It’s the only way.”

“It’s too dangerous!”

“Hey, Lion-O, you said it yourself: We can’t just stand here all day,” Tygra drawled, and Lion-O angrily subsided.

“You sure about this?” Panthro asked slowly. “If you get hit by one of those lasers –”

She understood his concern. Snarf may have been able to withstand them, but she was no petcat. Nevertheless, she had to try. “I’m sure,” she said.

“We’re counting on you,” Cheetara put in.

Right. “Here I go!”

Ducking, swerving, hurdling, Felline navigated the three-dimensional maze until she got far enough away from the others that she wouldn’t put them in harm’s way. Then, she verbally guided Snarf to another beam across from her.

“Ready?” she asked him, and although the little petcat seemed terrified, he put his tasseled ears back determinedly and nodded at her.

“Now.” She deliberately tripped one of the beams at the same time Snarf flicked his tufted tail through the one over his head. They then leaped in opposite directions. As expected, the walls opened fire, burning tiny, smoking holes in the floor right where they had been standing.

“. . . Did it work?” Panthro asked into the sizzling.

Felline shook her head. Then, feeling dumb, she reminded herself that he couldn’t see her and that she had speech at her disposal. “No. It wasn’t enough.”

Scaring her, the goggles came to life with a shrill beep. The symbols and words flashing in front of her eyes confused her at first, but then she realized they were analyzing the trap for her. A fierce grin spread across her face when they began to target the beams that would serve her purpose.

The next beams they tripped caused an implosion. The walls shot out their own bulbs, the one aiming for Felline hitting Snarf’s, and vice versa. Moving faster now, Felline darted around, drawing fire, staying just ahead of the killing lasers. At the opposite end of the room, Snarf was doing much the same thing, although he couldn’t see the beams. It was enough for him to run pell-mell, dodging the shots, keeping up a continual frightened _snyar snyar snyar_ as he leaped and contorted and cartwheeled, trying not to get hit again.

Finally, they triggered the last one together. Snarf got tangled up in his own legs and slid across a yard of glassy tiles, faceplanting at Felline’s feet. She, her breathing ragged, punched the panel that unlocked the door and then ripped the goggles off her head.

The flood of pure daylight revealed a scene of smoking, charred destruction. Nearly dry, Felline bent over, bracing her hands on her thighs, and fought to catch her breath.

WilyKit dared to open one eye. Then the other. “You did it!” she crowed.

“Way to go!” WilyKat yelled. He and his sister took to all fours and bounded for daylight.

They were smiling at her. Cheetara. Tygra. Panthro. She met their gazes, but could do no more than briefly touch on the complicated blue of Lion-O’s. Embarrassment and pride warring within her, Felline glanced down at Snarf.

“Good job, partner,” she murmured, scratching under his furry chin.

“Myao!” Snarf purred.

..::~*~::..

Rather than the expected and longed-for temple on the other side of the door, a canyon cut deep into the mountain, brimming over with dense jungle growth. Half a mile away, a cliff face rose opposite them, a waterfall pouring endlessly over its lip.

Confused, Felline turned around. Yet another carved lion head roared around the black rectangle that led back into the mountain, stalactites serving as upper fangs. This frieze was cracked and worn by ages of weather. They’d come the right way, and yet –

“There’s nothing here!” Lion-O snarled, staring in disbelief over the hot, steamy canyon. “All those traps just to protect more jungle? Maybe no one can find this temple because it doesn’t exist!”

He was shaking, his hands clenched. All that way, all that work, for nothing. And they needed the Book so badly.

It certainly seemed they’d been taken for fools. Again. They were standing on a broad ledge cut into the cliff face, with no way up or down the smooth rock sides. No stairs, no ladders, no further doors.

Cheetara walked toward Lion-O, sway-hipped. Next to Felline, Tygra stiffened.

“Or maybe,” Cheetara said to his back, “it takes more than just getting past physical traps to find it.”

Lion-O looked at her. So did Tygra. Felline looked at Tygra. Tygra’s mouth tightened as if he was clenching his teeth. Interesting. Neither she nor the prince was jubilant about Cheetara’s interest in Lion-O, apparently. She fastened her goggles around her neck and wondered if they were upset for the same reasons.

Cheetara never took her eyes off Lion-O, shoulders back, spine straight, and confidence in the ancients wiping her beautiful face of all expression. She smiled.

“Believe in yourself,” she said, her voice a low and intimate purr. She took Lion-O’s bigger hand and squeezed. “I do.”

Something clenched inside of Felline’s chest, her triumph over besting the light trap fading. She couldn’t help with this. The clerics – their sorcery – their wisdom – what could her limited tech and know-how do here? Not a thing.

Taking a deep breath, Lion-O drew the Sword and put it up to his eyes. With a new note in his voice, he intoned, “Sword of Omens, give me Sight Beyond Sight.”

An eerie growl answered. The Sword responded, the Eye awoke, and Lion-O’s irises glowed silver-blue.

Felline watched his face, fascinated. He looked so noble, communing with the ancient blade. Then he gasped and jerked it away from his eyes, becoming his normal, seventeen-year-old self. Although they couldn’t see what he had, they all knew the spell had worked. The Sword snapped into its compact form and returned to its slumber.

“There’s a switch,” Lion-O said tensely, sheathing the Sword in the Gauntlet. He knelt at the edge of the cliff.

He leaned recklessly far, stretching down, claws digging into the dirt to keep his balance. “I can’t reach it.”

The rest of them crowded around, peering at the vertical wall of rock. Was that it, Felline wondered – that square of tarnished bronze glinting in the sun, eight feet directly below them?

Felline looked up at the swish of a whip. Tygra raised his arm and said in an amused voice that didn’t match his flinty expression, “Allow me.”

He expertly swung his arm down, and the three-tailed whip lashed over the edge of the cliff with a crack. The ruby tips smacked into the square. It clicked, and then it moved with the grinding of metal into stone. With quick, practiced flicks of his wrist, Tygra coiled the whip. They waited for something to happen.

Across the canyon, part of the waterfall erupted outward.

A blue cat head, twin to the one that used to adorn Cat’s Lair, emerged from behind the waterfall. Two smaller cat heads followed as a wide marble arch slid smoothly into place, parting the water like curtains to either side, revealing the vine-covered entrance to the Tower of Omens at last.

Felline couldn’t stop the sound of awe that escaped her. From the steamy depths of the jungle below, three enormous rock pillars rose, forming a half-mile bridge right to the tower.

Cheetara glanced at her sidelong, and Felline bristled at her expression. _If that’s not magic,_ it said, right before Cheetara turned to follow their king and her yellow hair hid her face, _then you’re a fool._

..::~*~::..

It was huge. It was beautiful. A glassy red jewel captured the sun atop the tower carved into the cliff face. White stone and pillared walls admitted sunlight and the chaotic scents of the jungle. In spite of how long it had seemed they’d been trapped inside the mountain, the day was only half over.

“The Tower of Omens,” Lion-O breathed into the echoing space.

“Can’t believe I finally found it!” Panthro stretched his arms overhead and then grinned down at Felline, walking by his side. “Guess all it took was the right partners.”

Suddenly shy, she nodded. Panthro was right. They’d never have made it without all of their particular strengths working together. Maybe the ancients had known a thing or two about clairvoyance as well as tech.

Inside the tower, there were no rooms. It was one big rotunda, sheltered from the elements by an inner sanctum wall. It was darker in there, but still warm and humid.

The ThunderCats stood in a loose semicircle at the base of a colossal marble column. The jungle encroached even there, crawling vines describing green patterns on the cracked white stone. At intervals, large pegs pounded into the column formed a sort of ramp, drooping under the weight of rotten plant growth.

“The Book must be up there,” Tygra said unnecessarily.

Felline counted more than eight turns of the pegs before they disappeared near the top of the column. Her ears sagged.

Cheetara, however, was smiling, and she was radiant. “You did it, Lion-O!”

“Indeed. He did,” said a voice Felline had never heard before.

They all turned.

A strange, emaciated figure stood on the top of the sanctum wall with his back to the shadows, holding a lantern aloft that gave off sickly blue light. He seemed vaguely simian, with a broad, flat, wrinkled face and upturned nose, but otherwise like no monkey Felline had ever heard of, hairless and the overall color of a dirty scab. His lips skinned back from a mouthful of pointed teeth. He wore no clothes. Ragged bandages coiled about his thin torso and skeletal limbs, trailing like the filthy red cloak pulled over his head.

He didn’t seem threatening, all bent-backed and bony, but what made Felline back up a step were his eyes, glowing red as coals, without sclera or pupil.

“And it will be the last thing he ever does,” the figure added conversationally.

The lantern in his claw-like hand, fashioned like a cat head holding a glass ball in its mouth, sorrowfully spoke in a withered, aged, canned voice. “I led him right to you,” it said. “I’m sorry.”

If she squinted, Felline could just make out the blurred features of a ThunderCat, bearded and helmed, trapped inside the glass ball. He had a noble, wise face, with a rather aquiline nose.

“Jaga,” Cheetara moaned. Equal parts pain and hope warred across her face. “You’re alive!”

Aghast, Felline stared at her. That? Lord Jaga, leader of the clerics, legendary sorcerer of Thundera?

The wasted simian figure chuckled. “Hardly,” he rasped. “He’s nothing but a vapor in a jar, and I have little use for him now.”

With that, he flung the lantern.

“No!” Lion-O roared, but Cheetara was already on the move. Sunny afterimages dazzled the cats as she leaped beneath the lantern, stretched out her hand, and nabbed it out of the air. She landed badly on her side, Jaga’s macabre prison cradled in her arms. She slid to a stop on the marble floor and left a wide, shiny streak in the dirt.

Above her, the figure snarled. A ball of purple lightning crackled to life in his leathery palm and then jumped at Cheetara. It struck her, sweeping her into the air. She collided with the column and slid down it, her face contorted in pain, but she hadn’t relinquished her hold of the lantern, keeping it safely crushed to her bosom.

“Cheetara!” Lion-O yelled.

He would have run to her, but Tygra held him back.

“We have to get to the Book,” he said.

Felline was already on the way to the column, precipitated by Panthro’s snagging her by her tunic and tossing her in that direction. She gained the bottommost pegs just as he said, “Go!” and waved Lion-O after her.

Using her hands as well as her feet, Felline propelled herself upward as if her tail was on fire. She heard Panthro roughly say, “Mumm-Ra’s mine.”

Mumm-Ra. The ancient evil. Here. And Panthro knew of him, knew him. Felline levered herself upright. She leaped from peg to peg for all she was worth. They creaked worryingly under her weight, groaned under Lion-O, and splintered beneath Tygra. Any moment, the old wood could give way and send one of them plummeting to a messy death, but nobody slowed.

Her fear chased her thoughts in tightening circles, like a hawk closing in on a sparrow. Mumm-Ra. He was real. She didn’t doubt for a moment that’s who that cloaked, sinister figure was. She could smell him, a combination of sand, bitter herbs, and corpse rot. He was real.

They had to reach the Book before he did.

The sounds of battle bounced upward inside the tower: grunts, growls, snarls, the rattling chain of Panthro’s nunchaku, and further bursts of Mumm-Ra’s sorcery. Oh, whiskers, where were the twins? Felline didn’t hear them behind her, only the heavy breathing of the king and his brother.

“This bag of bones is no match for Panthro!” the general bellowed, without a trace of a smile in his voice.

The pegs led them higher. Tiring, Felline started panting, and it was the loudest sound in the world. Yet she heard when Mumm-Ra shrieked, _“Ancient Spirits of Evil, transform this decayed form into Mumm-Ra, the Ever-Living!”_

Deafening thunder bounced from wall to wall, followed by a screech that could have woken the dead. Maybe it had. Cold, purple-black fire whooshed by Felline, followed quickly by thick bolts of purple lightning that ruffled her fur. She missed the next peg. With a breathless squeak, she threw herself forward, catching it under her arms.

The peg shuddered as Lion-O passed her, one hand on the column for balance. She watched him follow the curve, and then Tygra was there, picking her up. They started running again, this time with Tygra in the lead and Felline hot on his heels.

The screeches went on and on, deep and bloodthirsty and huge – in a second, Felline saw why.

Mumm-Ra had grown, transformed from the withered simian creature into a giant of bulging muscle and taut sinew. He flew upward with the aid of the bat’s wings that had sprouted from his back. He opened his cavernous mouth and vomited a beam of purple energy.

It blew apart the wooden pegs beneath Felline. Screaming, she flailed for a handhold amid a choking cloud of sawdust, splinters, and burning moss, but she was falling. Mumm-Ra flew past her as if she were nothing more than a chunk of wood.

Her claws squealed against marble, tearing through the vines. She was brought up short when her hands dipped into one of the square holes that used to hold a peg. Mumm-Ra had blasted through so many of them that it would be impossible to reach the top of the tower that way.

What was she supposed to do now? She blinked away the tears in her eyes, staring up through the settling dust, and dug her toes into one of the cracks marring the smooth marble column. That was better. Sort of.

The fiend was right above her, soaring after the retreating form of Lion-O.

Then, inexplicably, he stopped, one foot outstretched.

Looking down with his mad red eyes, he thundered his displeasure, wings flapping.

From the empty space below his foot, a green-white energy bolt zoomed at his face, but he blocked it with one hand. It ricocheted off his palm.

The pistol shot hadn’t even scratched him. Mumm-Ra spat his own purple energy. It broke apart into tongues of electricity, fizzling out Tygra’s invisibility spell. The prince reappeared, grimacing. Although Mumm-Ra kicked his foot and managed to dislodge him, Tygra snapped his whip like a fly fisher his line and captured the fiend’s other ankle.

“You won’t shake me that easily!” he taunted.

Grunting, Panthro reached Felline. He pulled himself upward one handhold at a time like a rock climber, a kitten hanging from either scarred shoulder, Snarf from his sash. She gave them a smile that felt like a wince, relieved that they were okay.

Mumm-Ra, however, was furious. The bolt he regurgitated was the largest yet, catching Tygra in the midsection. The blue whip unraveled and he plummeted with a yell.

In an incredible display of strength, Panthro reached out and seized Tygra’s ankle, his other three sets of claws still wedged into the cracks running through the column, arresting the tiger mid-fall.

“Yeah!” WilyKat and Kit cheered.

Muscles burning, Felline scuttled closer and helped the shaken Tygra right himself. Now, with the twins, Tygra, and Snarf, Panthro was carrying four. She and the big cat shared a look of determination, and slowly, agonizingly, they crawled higher. Lion-O was alone up there. There was no one to stand between him and Mumm-Ra.

With a roar, Mumm-Ra reached the top a split second after Lion-O. Although they couldn’t see what was happening, they could hear it. “The Book of Omens and its power belong to me!” the monster shouted.

Lion-O’s response was, “ThunderCats, _ho!”_

Blue-white lightning sought out every dark shadow in the tower and banished it. Clinging to the stone, Felline went rigid. Next to her, the others did the same. The Sword and the Eye were speaking to them. She could hear their otherworldly voices, feel their need in every bone of her body. Questing. Querying. Rejecting.

And then they released her. The Sword had made its choice.

Still clutching Jaga’s lantern so far below, Cheetara woke and stood. For a brief moment, her eyes flashed yellow-gold.

If they’d thought her fast before, it was nothing compared to what she did next, in thrall to the Sword.

Bypassing the column and its rotten pegs entirely, Cheetara began to run around the rotunda. Quicker than lightning, she angled for the sanctum wall and ran up it as if gravity was something she could turn on or off at will. Spiraling upward, she shot by Felline and Panthro without glancing at them. Felline and the kittens cheered her on, laughing. The Sword had chosen its best champion. Mumm-Ra couldn’t beat that. They were going to win. They just had to.

“Close that mouth,” Panthro rumbled suddenly. “You’re drooling.”

Surprised, Felline looked at him. He grinned wickedly at Tygra, who, hanging from the panther’s shoulder with eyes as huge as a kitten’s, closed his mouth.

Kat and Kit burst out laughing. Poor Tygra. Mumm-Ra’s attacks had probably scrambled his brains a little.

“There,” Panthro grunted a few minutes of climbing later.

“I see it,” Felline responded. She hefted herself onto one of the intact pegs at last. Holding out her arms, she beckoned to the kittens. Kit hopped into her embrace first, and then Felline caught Kat. Tygra climbed up next, and finally Panthro. They ran toward the bangs, booms, and crackles. Darkness and light strobed off the walls. With a shout, Cheetara skidded to the edge of the column and tumbled over the side, barely catching herself on the brink. Her arms were empty. Watching her dangle above them, Kit froze and let out a squeal of fright.

“Go, move!” Tygra yelled, taking the lead. With his longer legs, he was able to take the pegs two at a time. He disappeared around the curve.

“I’ve got you!” Lion-O called to Cheetara.

He didn’t make it to her. The sound that tore out of him then was so full of pain that it frightened Felline like nothing else ever had. Worse, it stopped. Abruptly.

Felline listened, straining her ears, hoping for – what? A breath? A groan? More screams? Anything to indicate that he was still alive.

Mumm-Ra laughed.

“You are much like your father,” he said.

“What do you know of my father?” Lion-O gasped, his voice raw.

“Only that I killed him!”

Lion-O’s screams resumed.

Calling his name, Felline unknowingly stopped running. His agonized yells went on and on. Whimpering, she threw her arms over her head, trying to block her ears. Tears flowed unchecked down her face.

What could they do against this? How could they win against such evil, which laughed delightedly while it inflicted pain? How badly would the fiend hurt them before he killed them?

She was so scared.

Then, suddenly, the screams changed. A bright light blinded Felline, but it was different light than the trap on the other side of the canyon, less artificial, less cold. There seemed to be a presence behind it, kind and wise, offering wordless comfort.

The screams belonged to Mumm-Ra.

“The light!” he howled, his voice laced with terror. He kept shrieking, the sound pitching ever higher, and then it cut off with a pop. An avian cawed.

“The Book will be mine!” Mumm-Ra screamed in a much smaller voice, and the avian’s cawing grew fainter. Then it vanished.

He was gone. So was the light.

Feeling strangely empty, Felline reached the top of the column as Lion-O helped Cheetara to sit. A piece of glass fell, tinkling, and Cheetara’s face broke. She looked as if she might cry.

Surreptitiously, Felline scrubbed her cheeks dry. He was okay. Lion-O was all right, if a little mussed, but his blue eyes were big and young again. The lantern had shattered.

“Jaga,” he mourned. In his voice, Felline heard what no one had thought to tell her. That the old cleric had been more than a guardian for him. More than a teacher. A mentor. A friend. Another father to take the place of the mother he’d never known.

Ever so gently, Cheetara gathered the broken lantern in her arms and sat there hugging it, her face dry but her voice full of tears. “He sacrificed himself for you,” she said quietly. “For all of us.”

They bowed their heads, Lion-O, Panthro, Tygra, and Felline; the kittens held hands. Kit picked up Snarf and rubbed her face into his fur.

“Hey,” Kat said.

A tiny yellow light, like a firefly, drifted out of the shattered glass globe. Twinkling, it rose between Tygra and Panthro. Then it floated back down to hover in front of Cheetara.

“Look,” Tygra whispered, and Cheetara opened her eyes.

The tiny light bobbed around Felline and then drifted past the kittens. Finally, it moved toward Lion-O.

Then, as if it had greeted them all and was satisfied, it rose up. Suspended in a stone chandelier or cage, a red book floated like a fish in water. The firefly light merged with it, the structure shuddered, and then the whole thing lowered without a sound.

Everybody looked at Lion-O.

Squaring his shoulders, the young king approached the cage-like chandelier, reached in with both hands, and lightly lifted the Book of Omens out. The red jewel set in its cover flashed as if in recognition and then went dark.

With a smile, Lion-O turned back. “At long last,” he said, opening the cover, “we have all the answers.”

He said nothing for a full minute, eyes trained on the pages.

“Well?” Tygra demanded eagerly. “What does it say?”

“It says –” Lion-O said, and then he stopped. His brows knitted. He lowered the Book, horror shining in his eyes. “Nothing. It’s blank.”


	8. Chapter Eight

"What happened up there?” Panthro rumbled.

It took several seconds of nobody answering for Felline to realize he was talking to her. She looked up in surprise.

“You choked,” he explained, not meeting her eye. They descended to the lower floor, Kit and Kat hopping down the pegs in front of them, a limping Cheetara bringing up the rear. “You can’t fall apart like that in a fight. It’s a good way to get yourself and your friends killed.”

Felline put her ears back. She knew exactly to what he was referring, but what was he saying? That she’d wimped out? Well, so what if she had? For the umpteenth time since that morning, she’d thought they were all going to die. Facing Mumm-Ra and hearing him torture Lion-O had been ten times worse than confronting her father that last day, helplessly listening to her sister’s screams. If she’d choked, as Panthro put it, what could she have done differently? She was no sorcerer. She’d wanted to reach the Book as badly as any of them, but she’d been dangling a few hundred feet off the floor, in case he hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t like her rifle was a one-handed weapon. What was she supposed to have done, pulled the trigger with her teeth? Besides, they’d both seen how effective Tygra’s shots had been against that monster. Worse than useless!

In the midst of this storm of indignation, which took less than a second to run through her head, an unpleasant thought occurred to her. Was that what everyone thought of her? That she was useless?

The Sword of Omens had obviously decided she was. Felline’s tail swished irritably from side to side while she followed the kittens to the dusty tower floor. If there had been any way for her to accomplish their goal, the Sword would have chosen her instead of Cheetara. Panthro had heard the voices, too. He had to know that.

The general watched her seethe, his wide mouth turned down at the corners in his customary scowl. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

“What do you want me to say?” she snapped, turning on him so abruptly that he stopped walking, staring down at her with one eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry that no one taught me how to fight!”

Panthro’s face gained in austerity, the same eyebrow twitching. Felline was nastily aware that he was about four times as big as she was, all hard muscle beneath his scarred fur.

“Whose fault is that?” he rumbled.

“Whose fa– . . .” She trailed off, spluttering. Whose _fault?_ Everyone’s! She was the daughter of a palace guard, one of the Thunderian nobility. Genteel, moderately educated, born to marry well and raise a family. She had not been bred for warfare.

“Ooo, watch out, Panthro,” Kat said. He bounded back to them, avidly watching Felline struggle to untangle her tongue.

“Yeah. You don’t want her to go off again,” Kit added, covering her ears with a theatrical grimace. “She’s kinda loud.”

“Like a gaw rak rak . . .”

“. . . or the ramlak.”

They burst out laughing, pointing at each other and positively howling at their impressions of Felline as the ramlak. Their young voices echoed throughout the rotunda. If Tygra and Lion-O hadn’t been paying attention before, they were now.

Mortified, Felline glared at the twins. Why were they making fun of her? If her words were of so little value, then she wouldn’t say anything at all!

With a sigh, Panthro knocked each kitten in the skull with knuckles hard as rocks. Silenced, Kat held his head, tears threatening in his big golden eyes, while his sister sniffled into her balled fists.

“You’re not bad with that,” the general continued as if there had been no interruption, gesturing at the rifle strapped to Felline’s thigh. “If things had been different, I’d have recommended you for the army. You have talent. But that’s not going to help you or anyone else if the enemy closes in. Gets past your guard. Like today.”

“So it’s my fault that I can’t fight? That’s not fair!” Felline exclaimed, forgetting that she wasn’t going to talk anymore. Her father had given her a good education, but unfortunately, the curriculum for highborn ladies didn’t include learning how to bash each other’s skulls in. Snow had been extremely reluctant to even allow archery lessons, but Lepra had begged so hard –

“You could always ask to be taught,” Panthro said.

Cheetara, who had been listening the whole time, now came forward. “ ‘To be idle is a short road to death and to be diligent is a way of life.’ These are the words of my teacher, Jaga,” she told them.

Panthro rolled his mismatched eyes heavenward. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

“I could teach you hand to hand combat if you like,” Cheetara went on, ignoring him. She smiled at Felline, apparently thinking herself generous.

At this, the twins recovered. Felline suspected there had never been any real tears to begin with.

“Could you teach us, too?” WilyKat demanded.

“Of course,” Cheetara said, still smiling. She put a hand on her hip. “I think you two could become excellent fighters in time.”

“Yeah!” WilyKit cried. She threw a punch at her brother. “WilyKit and Kat, the greatest fighters on Third Earth!”

“Bow before our might!” Kat added.

A scuffle ensued, the giggling kittens pretending a little too enthusiastically. Kat accidentally poked his sister in the eye, and she, furious, jumped on him, biting every inch of him she could reach. He pulled her hair. She slapped his face. Now the tears were real.

Felline edged sideways. The need to get away crept up on her, growing in intensity. The last she saw of them was Cheetara separating the kittens with her bo staff, and Panthro looking on with his arms folded across his massive chest.

..::~*~::..

Sunset, when viewed from the middle of the rock bridge, overwhelmed Felline with its beauty. High above the canyon floor, she could see for what seemed like hundreds of miles, each one burning beneath the huge, orange disc of the sun. When the disc melted over the eastern horizon, the tiny white Cheshire moon took its place in the starry sky, her sister Leo hovering over the western mountain peaks. The distant moon Panthera vanished with the onset of night.

A symphony gained volume in the jungle beneath Felline: Hoots, whistles, rattles, buzzes, snarls, and wordless songs jumbled together as the night creatures went about their business. Not that Felline had been idle. A small pile of what she’d dubbed snake-birds lay next to her, their pink serpentine bodies topped with beaked heads and downy wings. They didn’t seem particularly smart, for she’d brought them down easily as they swooped around her, hunting insects. She thought they might prove edible – Panthro would know.

Chilled by the deepening night, she strung her catch together. It was time to return. The sunset and the open air had cleared her head; she shouldn’t risk remaining in a nighttime jungle alone.

No sooner had she thought this than a huge beast shot from beneath the lip of the rock bridge, its jaws clamping shut on a hapless snake-bird right in front of her face. Leathery skin flapping, the wing-ed water snake soared over Felline and vanished into the dark jungle below with its squealing snack.

Felline broke into a trot, her kills bouncing against her back. That thing had been large enough to carry her off if it had wanted. Third Earth was truly a vast, uncharted, unfriendly place, and tonight, she was feeling very small.

Maybe Panthro was right. She should be able to defend herself, at least, in more than one way. If Cheetara was willing . . . There were worse teachers to have than one of Jaga’s hand-picked clerics.

Maybe then, the Sword of Omens might choose her as a champion of the ThunderCats, instead of dismissing her as it had done.

The others had built a fire. Its flickering glow illuminated the tower’s columns from within, turning white marble orange. Its warmth beckoned and she jogged the last few feet, ready to put this eternal day to rest. Mist gathered in her fur as she stepped beneath the cat-headed overhang.

Even muffled by the thunder of the divided waterfall, which shone like crystal beneath the moons as it poured over the cliff, she heard him sigh.

Lion-O.

He stood with his back to her, his spiky red mane black in the night, staring out at the steamy jungle much as she had done. At his side, the metal bindings of the Book glinted. While she watched, he opened it yet again. He did it quickly, as if this time he could surprise the secrets within, catch them before they slithered out of sight and left the pages crisp, clean, and blank.

She hesitated. Lion-O looked lonely and lost. She was sure the disappointment and confusion she felt were a tenth of his. Should she go to him, or not?

Not, she decided finally. Lion-O didn’t like her. He preferred Cheetara over any cat under his command. Besides, she hadn’t even apologized yet for yelling at him – was it only that morning? It felt like it had been years.

Ducking her head, she turned to go in, and nearly bumped into the solid wall that was Panthro.

He stared down at her. Wordless, she held up the string of snake-birds.

“That’s a welcome sight,” he approved, softening at once. He lifted the string up to the light, letting the limp pink serpents revolve slowly. “There’s good eating on one of these.”

His deep voice echoed around the lofty tower, its naturalness fake. He wasn’t going to bring it up, then. Ashamed of her behavior, Felline spoke as quietly as she could.

“I was afraid.”

Panthro didn’t look at her, but he put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Yeah,” he murmured. “We all were.”

“Even you?” she asked. Panthro had taken on Mumm-Ra by himself, giving the others a head start.

“Even me,” he rumbled. “But I’m not gonna die that easy.”

Was that really all there was to it? Felline thought about it, and then she nodded. Courage would come later. Now, she had to focus on learning what she could to keep herself alive.

Together, they went inside to tell the others that dinner was served.

..::~*~::..

By the next afternoon, Felline had compiled a list of why she didn’t like martial arts, the foremost of which were the bruises blooming beneath her fur.

To start, Cheetara set her and the kittens to practice form. She showed them techniques and skills one at a time, pushing them through the motions. That hadn’t been so bad. Then, sometime around her talking about accuracy – visualizing where they wanted their strike to land – Lion-O disappeared with the Book. He climbed to the top of the tower with Snarf, and they moved their training outside, where, to Felline’s dismay, Cheetara threw their techniques back at them. Punching the air was one thing. Having it hit back was quite another.

The day wore on. Cheetara was all about repetition. Do it again. And again. Panthro fell asleep, his soft snores punctuating the gasps and short hisses of the kittens as they dodged Cheetara’s staff, trying to get a hit in. The twins were improving, working so seamlessly together they were like one entity. Felline wasn’t doing as well. She knew which fighting style she preferred, and it wasn’t this. Jealously, she eyed Tygra, who cleaned his pistol in perfect, shady comfort.

Waiting for her turn with the she-beast (whose limp had vanished, leaving her long, lean, and dangerous once again), Felline shuffled toward the prince, holding her sore elbow. He didn’t look up.

Snarf bolted out of the tower and skidded to a stop at her feet, yowling.

“What is it?” Tygra asked, instantly alert.

“Snyar snyar,” Snarf said frantically.

Panthro jerked awake. The kittens and Cheetara came running.

“Snyaa,” Snarf wailed.

No one knew exactly what Snarf was saying at any given time, but the only thing that Snarf cared about was Lion-O. Alarm spread across Tygra’s face. One look at him and Cheetara disappeared into the tower in a blur. Snarf followed her as fast as his short legs could take him.

“Come on,” Tygra said grimly, holstering his pistol.

So up they climbed to the top of the tower, where the afternoon sun streamed unchecked through the stone latticework of the ceiling. Lion-O lay flat on his back, unmoving. The Book lay several feet away, its covers closed. Sunlight glowed in the smooth, round jewel like embers.

The sight of him lying there, so still, made Felline’s heart crawl into her mouth. No one seemed to want to get close enough to touch him. Snarf, WilyKit and Kat, and Felline bent over him. Felline thought she could detect the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

He wasn’t dead. Was he asleep?

She glanced at Snarf, who shivered in the hot sunlight as though he had a fever. No. Not asleep, either. What, then?

They bent nearer.

His face was at peace. There was no sign of blood or any kind of struggle. What could have happened? Did it have something to do with the Book? What were they supposed to do? How could they help?

With a cry, Lion-O jerked awake. Kat toppled over backward in surprise.

Lion-O blinked once. Twice. Looked around without moving his head. Blinked again, and saw them crowded around his body.

Life and intelligence returned to his face. Stiffly, as if he’d been the one getting whacked about the shins by Cheetara’s staff all day, he sat up.

“Myao,” Snarf said in a small voice.

Lion-O stood. His gaze sought the sky, visible through the tower’s roof.

“I know what we have to do,” he said.

..::~*~::..

“So . . . we aren’t from Third Earth?” Felline asked. It was the first thing she had said since the Book had returned Lion-O’s spirit to his body. She was having a hard time digesting his story, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask him anything before now. She was still too irritated with him.

“No. My ancestor, before he became the first Lord of the ThunderCats, served Mumm-Ra aboard his ship, the _Black Pyramid,”_ Lion-O answered. He’d been surprisingly talkative after he’d woken from the Book’s spell the day before – the Book which, it turned out, was a fusion of technology and sorcery, containing both the disembodied spirit of Jaga and records of the past that only Lion-O could access.

Not that Felline minded. She glanced up at his profile etched against the backdrop of dead, leafless trees bordering the road. The hard-packed clay road was as dry as the jungle had been humid, and she took a thoughtful sip from her canteen. She had no desire to shoulder someone else’s identity, or to live someone else’s memories from hundreds of years in the past, as Lion-O apparently had. Frankly, the whole idea scared her. So did the thought of traveling up there, beyond the clouds, in the sky, in a – “Ship?” she asked next. “Like the _Narwhal?_ Captain Tunar’s ship?”

“No.” He grinned down at her, the old fire of tech alight in his eyes. Pretty eyes. She returned her own to the trees, the black slash of a crow breaking up the monochromatic tableau. “A spaceship. It traveled between the stars.”

Troubled, she wrapped her hands around the straps of her borrowed pack. It didn’t fit well, having been made for a lizard.

If the ThunderCats didn’t belong to Third Earth, from where had they come? Stretching her imagination to its limit, she didn’t – couldn’t – believe their species might have lived on Leo – the gas giant named for the very ancestor that had brought about the rebellion on the _Black Pyramid_ and caused it to crash land on Third Earth, thus stranding the cats and all the other animals aboard, barely leaving enough of them alive to restart civilization – but according to Lion-O, the ship had come from much farther away than even the moons, conquering whole solar systems – a term that encompassed a single sun and the planets that surrounded it –

Felline grimaced. He was still talking, describing the prison blocks on the ship, the collars programmed to explode should their wearers put a toe out of line. Trying to absorb this alien way of life made her stomach hurt. Wasn’t Third Earth big enough without bringing a whole universe from the bowels of Mumm-Ra’s lair along with it?

Monkeys, tiger sharks, elephants, lizards, vulture-men and birds, jackalmen and dogs – they had been enslaved to Mumm-Ra, but he had seemed to favor the cats, using them to enforce his control over the lesser animals, positioning them in his armies as his generals, flitting from world to world to collect –

“. . . the Power Stones,” Lion-O said. He drew the dagger-sized Sword of Omens, turning it so the sunlight winked off the quiescent Eye of Thundera. Felline hadn’t had an opportunity of studying it this close before. It looked like a round, red eye, lidless, with a cat’s slitted pupil, like a seed suspended in gelatin. Perhaps the pupil was a flaw within the crystal itself. “Leo led a rebellion and won this: the War Stone. Cat blacksmiths created the Sword and the Gauntlet of Omens in secret, which he used to take the other Stones from Mumm-Ra before imprisoning him inside his sarcophagus. . . .”

Which Grune had then opened. That much, Felline got. The ship, the _Black Pyramid,_ had been lying in wait in the desert ever since it had crashed, until Mumm-Ra’s evil sorcery had managed to latch onto the power-hungry mind of the Thunderian general.

Felline sighed. Lion-O strode along with new confidence, fierce pride turning his whole aspect around. Which was a nice change, but . . .

“We have to find them,” he said. He returned the Sword to its resting place on his hip. “We have to get the other three Stones before Mumm-Ra does. They were scattered, each Stone claimed by a different species. Without the Stones, he’s just a sack of old bones, but with them, he could conquer the whole planet. It’s up to us to stop him. We can’t let him destroy Third Earth.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said,” she mumbled, tired now of the subject. Most of this was a repeat of yesterday’s monolog. Ridiculously, Mumm-Ra and all of his various evils had become the only safe topic of conversation for her and Lion-O.

He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to be here, alone with her.

And guess what? The feeling was mutual.

..::~*~::..

Finding a way back to the ThunderTank from the Tower of Omens had taken the rest of the afternoon and a good chunk of the evening. Since they now possessed the Book of Omens, they’d been able to pass safely through the mountain, its traps destroyed or disabled.

When the last stone door closed behind them, Felline looked back at the carved lion head. She then squared her shoulders and left the whole experience behind forever.

Later, Lion-O explained how, on the _Black Pyramid,_ Leo had used the Book as a sort of technological dowsing rod to locate the Power Stones across the galaxies for Mumm-Ra. He talked late into the night as they sat around a fire, the kittens napping against Felline’s sides. Felline wasn’t sure whose idea it was to hook the Book up to the tank like a jury-rigged navigational system, but Panthro and Tygra took up the task of figuring out how, arguing.

“We need supplies,” Lion-O said at last, when they’d more or less settled on a game plan. “I’ll go tomorrow, find a town.”

“I’ll go with you,” Cheetara offered, glowing in the firelight. Lion-O puffed up as though he’d just defeated Mumm-Ra singlehandedly.

That was when Felline went to bed.

The next morning, however, WilyKit woke with a fever. WilyKat hung over his sister worriedly as Cheetara used her magic to put Kit back to sleep.

“Is it bad?” he asked.

“She’ll be all right,” Cheetara told him gently. “She just needs rest.”

“We’ll have to buy medicine while we’re at it,” Lion-O whispered, so as not to disturb the shallowly-breathing kitten. “You ready?”

Cheetara looked up at him, eyebrows raised, her palm resting on WilyKit’s small chest. “You’re not still thinking of going, are you?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “I’m going to guess you don’t think that’s a good idea. Why not?”

“I can’t leave her.” Cheetara hopped out of the tank, shaking her sunny hair over her shoulder. “And you can’t go alone. It’s too dangerous. Mumm-Ra’s army could be anywhere.”

She’d said the wrong thing. Lion-O frowned, his ego dented. “I can handle anything out there.”

“She’s right, Lion-O,” Tygra called from the tank’s cockpit. “It’s too risky. Besides, it’s not like you’re strong enough to carry everything back by yourself.”

“What was that?” Lion-O swelled like a blue thunderhead.

“Wait until tomorrow,” Cheetara said. She laid a hand on his arm, leaning close. Felline was sure her fingers weren’t the only things pressed against him right then.

“Now, that’s not what I said. There’s no reason he can’t go today. After all, we don’t have time to wait.” Tygra’s striped head appeared.

Cheetara frowned up at him. “What are you suggesting?”

Grinning, Tygra gestured with a screwdriver. “Take her.”

It was Felline’s turn to look up from where she sat cross-legged on the ground, brows knit over the red lenses of her goggles. Her lap was full of tangled cords and various tools as well as the Book of Omens, the red jewel set in its front cover dark. Panthro had entrusted her with it. She was busy plugging and unplugging wires and jacks pulled from the side of the tank, scanning the readout flashing across her goggles, searching for the right combination to power the artifact.

“No, no, no.” Panthro scooted feet first from under the tank. He sat up, grease smeared in his fur. “I need her here. There’s too much work to do.”

As if in agreement, something inside the tank gave a cough, then a screech, and then, with an alarming snap, the idling engine died. Again. Cursing, Panthro dove out of sight.

Gratitude to the old cat rushed through Felline, warming her to the tips of her toes.

Tygra leaned over the side of the tank and said, “Come on, we don’t need her. I’ve got it handled.”

Felline made a face at his backside, ears lowered. So much for being a respected member of the team.

“You do?” Panthro rumbled, slightly muffled. A series of knocks and bangs issued from beneath the tank. A long, slow drip of motor oil crawled across the ground like a glistening black slug. “Could have fooled me. She stays.”

“No, Tygra’s right. She should go with Lion-O,” Cheetara said, surprising Felline.

Immediately, Tygra straightened. His grin returned full force.

Cheetara smiled back. “It makes sense. As a protector of the crown, I can’t allow Lion-O to travel without an escort.”

“Some escort,” Lion-O said. Displeasure tilted his mouth, but Felline could tell he was upset because Cheetara had backed out of their cozy excursion, which he had probably seen as some kind of date. He looked like one of the endless toms that used to pester Lepra. “She’s not going to be much help.”

Cheetara wasn’t a shy tom, to be put off by a single rebuff. “Why not?” she asked him, her sunset-orange eyes steady, fully expecting an answer as she would from any rational adult.

Which he wasn’t.

“Look at her,” Lion-O snapped. His eyes slid toward Felline, taking in her stony expression. A faint blush darkened the cream of his cheek.

“Great, then it’s settled,” Tygra said, taking advantage of his brother’s momentary confusion. “Here, take this.” He emerged from the tank with an empty pack in hand, which he shoved at Felline.

She didn’t move. She was still holding the snarl of wires and the Book, her goggles flashing a query prompt at her. _Don’t I get a say?_

Apparently not. Lower lip thrust out, Lion-O hefted his own pack, already filled with enough of their remaining supplies to see two cats through the next couple of days, if they rationed everything. How carefully had he chosen what went in it, for Cheetara’s sake? “Let’s go, already. I want to get moving sometime this year.”

Angrily, Felline stood. She gathered her tools and slammed them back in the toolbox. She snatched the pack from Tygra.

“Don’t forget the analog process valve!” Panthro yelled after them, as anxious as a young mother sending her cub off to school for the first time.

“We know,” Lion-O called back, rolling his eyes.

“And the pump with alarming!”

“We know,” Felline said impatiently, turning off her goggles and settling them around her neck as she stalked after Lion-O.

“And the mixer –”

Together, they shouted, “We know!”

..::~*~::..

A chorus of avians chirped and whistled in the trees. Felline and Lion-O lapsed into awkward silence. Overhead, the sun glared at them like a baleful eye in a sallow, flat face. Low mountains of rock marched along with them in the distance.

Snarf, trotting between the two cats, mewed anxiously. Felline couldn’t blame him. This was definitely not cat country. King Claudus had kept his lands in neat order, the roads paved and regularly maintained, the towns marked clearly on maps. Here, she and Lion-O had to work to stay on the unnamed road, because sometimes it petered out without warning, leaving them stranded in a copse of withered brown trees, forcing them to backtrack. She could tell Lion-O was making an effort to shorten his natural stride for her, but it made little difference at the end of the day except to wear them both out.

Felline didn’t know by what specifications Lion-O had chosen their route, but whatever his strategy, it eventually worked. Crude wooden fences began to mark the edges of the widening road, which in turn showed signs of heavy use. A grassy berm sloped toward ponds of murky, stagnant water, which smelled unpleasantly of chemicals.

They walked on. Abruptly, a wall rose up before Felline, Lion-O, and Snarf. It glinted under the ochre sky. The tall, crooked buildings dotting the cliff behind it breathed plumes of black smoke that turned the air an ashy gray.

Forges, Felline realized. That explained the polluted water – it was runoff.

The wall that blocked their way bristled with thousands of blades, lashed together like knots of thatch, tier upon tier of lethal weaponry left to rust in the rain. If this place ever got rain. A terrible metal skull grinned down at them from the apex of the gate, hanging in a halo of curved, corroded spikes, a pair of rapiers crossed behind it. Felline didn’t know what animal it was supposed to represent, but if it was meant to intimidate her, it had succeeded. Snarf sat on her feet, trembling.

“I’ve heard stories about towns like this,” Lion-O said with nothing in his voice but curiosity. “Just never seen one before.”

“Leave Thundera often, did you?” Felline asked peevishly. She didn’t know why, but his know-it-all attitude rubbed her fur the wrong way.

Lion-O frowned at her and opened his mouth, but a brash black avian beat him to it, scolding them from the wall of blades. They jumped. Snarf abandoned Felline to hug his master’s ankle.

“Don’t worry, Snarf,” Lion-O said, smiling at his pet as if Felline wasn’t even there. “We’ll get what we need for the tank and leave.”

A lazy voice interceded. “Think you could . . . lend a hand . . . friend?” Lion-O started, casting around for the speaker, who said, “Up here. I seem to have snagged myself . . . again . . .”

Felline located him: A lop-eared rabbit, the collar of his tunic hooked upon the points of the bladed wall, looking like a drab, tattered, patchwork quilt, flapping in the breeze.

“What are you?” Lion-O blurted. Felline jabbed her elbow into his side. “Who are you?” he hastily corrected himself.

“Just a drifter, I suppose,” the rabbit said around his large front teeth. He didn’t seem the least troubled by his predicament and smiled benignly down at them, a willow reed sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He hung there, blowing nearly sideways, skinny feet protruding from his short, patched trousers, arms slack in the oversized tunic, making no effort to help himself.

Felline and Lion-O looked at each other; she shrugged.

Lion-O leaped up to the wall and clung to it. He scuttled toward the rabbit, nimbly avoiding the sharp edges of meat cleavers, bladed lances, pikes, sickles, and swords of all description. He lifted the rabbit off the wall and tossed him toward Felline.

To their amazement, the rabbit floated lackadaisically earthward, to and fro, the ends of his orange scarf fluttering. It was as if he was made of paper, boneless and weightless. Then, when he neared the fence, he came to rest stretched out on his side along the topmost rail, his head propped on his hand. Sorcery? Or a leporine trait?

Lion-O dropped to the ground and ran over to him. Felline followed more slowly.

Bits of trash were tangled in every inch of the long sable hair that fell in uncombed waves around the rabbit’s fawn-furred face. His clothes, the red waistcoat, brown trousers, and olive tunic, appeared to be made of fine, sturdy materials, but were so worn that they were little more than rags and tagged all over with burrs.

As if amused by her scrutiny, the self-styled Drifter smiled, his black eyes crinkled into crescents. “Thanks for the assist,” he said blandly. He possessed a deep, cultured voice that didn’t match his filthiness at all.

“Maybe you could return the favor,” Lion-O said. “We’re looking for supplies.”

“Find them somewhere else,” the Drifter responded, a sharp note entering his slow, lazy words. “This is a swordsman’s town, stranger, and they duel for keeps. Leave, before it’s too late.”

He hadn’t lost his annoying smile. Felline glanced at the town, the bladed wall, and the smoking forges. Whatever the Drifter was doing there, she had a feeling he was right. They should go.

“Or don’t. I don’t care,” the rabbit added as if he could hear her thoughts.

Was he making fun of them? He rolled over, showing Felline his cotton ball tail.

“I can handle myself all right,” Lion-O said. He drew the Sword of Omens and held it up, but the Drifter chuckled without bothering to look.

“This town loves guys like you,” he drawled, rolling back over with a smirk, “swaggering around with your . . . fancy sword, thinking you can’t lose . . . but you will. They all do.”

“This is more than a fancy sword,” Lion-O said. “It’s the Sword of Omens, and with it, I never lose.”

“Just like I said,” the drifter said in a low voice. He turned his dark eyes and fixed smile on Felline. “Take my advice and blow on out of here. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

With that, a gust of wind picked him up and carried him off.

“He was . . . strange,” Lion-O said after a few moments, unconsciously mimicking the rabbit’s odd pauses. He sheathed the Sword.

True. As far as Felline was concerned, the matter was closed. Hitching her pack higher, she turned back down the road.

“Where are you going?” Lion-O asked from behind her, sounding surprised.

“To find another town,” she returned, equally taken aback.

“Why?”

She made a noise of exasperation. Did she really have to explain it? “Because this town isn’t going to have what we need.”

“Are you kidding? A swordsman’s town is perfect.” He grinned up at the ashy sky. “They’ll have the materials for the ThunderTank, machinery and parts. Most of the population won’t live here. It’s all travelers who need food and blankets, like us. Plus, if there are as many duels here as that drifter says, there’s bound to be a healer with medicine.”

Felline stared at him, at a loss for words; her habit of silence was still stronger than her need to speak. Besides, a nasty sinking in her gut told her that Lion-O was more interested in those duels – or, more accurately, the duelists with the fancy swords – than actually completing their mission.

Still, he was her king. She closed her mouth and bowed her head. It was not her place to disagree.

But she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The main thoroughfare bustled with scores of creatures Felline had no name for, clothed in every manner of dress and undress imaginable. They were slight and hunched, heavy-jawed and armored, tusked and hooved, beaked and shelled, impossibly tall, laughably small, tailed, scaled, hairless, furred, and predominantly male – if there were any women, Felline didn’t see them. Every creature was armed. Swords were the most prevalent. Although she looked, she seemed to have the only gun. A bristle-chinned pig-man grunted as she passed, warning her that her rifle was unwelcome there.

It was a cold, efficient sort of town, quiet and matter-of-fact. Felline and Lion-O drank in the sights, so different than Thundera, their lost white city with its fragrant gardens and parks, the festive feeling that had saturated the market streets. Yet, in spite of all the swordsmen, everyone conducted business in a surprisingly non-hostile way.

They split up not long after arriving, her to seek out the parts that Panthro needed and him to procure blankets and food. Though she easily found the necessary equipment, the vendor refused her coins.

“Don’t you have any real money?” he snorted.

“What do you mean?” Felline didn’t drop her hand, but the vendor took her purchases off his counter and put them away. “These are Thunderian shilligs! If they aren’t enough, what about this?”

Although she didn’t want to part with it, she produced the silver bob.

He gave her a wet, angry snort. “No bank is going to back that piece of tin.”

A few of the vendor’s customers smirked.

“Wait! Please!” She cast them a helpless look, but all she got in reply was rough laughter.

One purple-skinned swordsman said, “Your silver is no good here, little one. You need something with a bit more _scratch.”_

What was that supposed to mean? She put her money away. “This is all I have.”

The vendor wouldn’t hear her protests and walked away from her. She tried other vendors, with the same results. She couldn’t even haggle for a drink of water. Stymied, she went in search of Lion-O.

She found him on the other side of the market, listening, baffled, as another staunch vendor scoffed through his beard.

“And now they’re relics of a fallen empire,” the vendor said, obviously finishing their argument. Unlike the vendor who had refused Felline, however, he merely pushed Lion-O’s purchases to the side and folded his long arms.

Empty-handed, she walked up to Lion-O. “You too?” she murmured.

“Happen to find any antique dealers?” he ruefully asked, proffering a shillig. He gave her a wry grin and then sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “So what are we gonna do for money?”

“What everyone else here does,” the vendor said. He uncrossed his long arms to point down the street. “Sword competition.”

At the end of the street, a large crowd had gathered around a shallow pit, in the middle of which sat a huge stone block, scored and chipped. As they watched, a swordsman approached it, drew his blade, and struck, creating a spray of sparks and earning encouraging cheers. Felline watched a second swordsman do the same thing. It seemed a pretty straightforward competition – make the biggest cut, make the purse.

Then she looked over at Lion-O and suppressed a groan. _Please tell me he isn’t seriously considering it._

He was, of course. He had drawn the Sword of Omens and beamed at it, already calculating his winnings in his head.

“Wanna bet they’ve never seen a sword like this?” he asked the bemused merchant, and then strode off.

“Don’t go,” Felline gasped, trotting to keep up with him. “Don’t do this, please. . . .”

As they got closer, she realized the stone was less a block and more an obelisk without its point, standing two and a half stories tall. Still brightly smiling, Lion-O wedged himself into the crowd. He headed for the edge of the pit, the Sword in his hand waiting in its dagger form. Felline slithered after him, petite and feline enough to pass through the gaps before they closed again.

A hooded jackalman approached the obelisk.

“Don’t do what?” Lion-O called back to her, distracted by the jackalman’s loud voice and how it carried across the crowd.

“The Sword of Omens is the greatest treasure of the ThunderCats,” she puffed, not stopping quickly enough when he did and running into him. She pressed a hand to her sore cheek. “You shouldn’t go waving it around when our enemies could be anywhere.”

“. . . Witness its awesome power!” the jackalman shouted. He swung his sword, which made an impressive sound as it struck.

“You worry too much, you know that? You’re as bad as Snarf,” Lion-O said, now watching interestedly as a squat, yellow creature in coveralls ran out to the obelisk. He measured the newest cut against marks tattooed on his arm and then proclaimed the jackalman as having taken first place.

“You don’t worry enough!” Felline retorted, her voice shrill with stress. In spite of the throaty cheers, those closest to them looked down at her. She dared to grab Lion-O’s wrist, attempting to push the Sword out of sight. “You are a king, not a bragging cub.”

He looked down at her, too, and shook her off. He hissed, “We need money. Do you have any better ideas?”

_Loads,_ she thought as a pig-man took his place in front of the stone.

“Nice,” the pig said to the jackal with a smirk, “but nothing compares to my sword. The gods themselves fear its edge. Behold!”

He swung and struck. His blade made a rather sour sound. After a moment, it shattered without having made a scratch on the obelisk.

“Is that what you want?” she snapped, throwing out a hand to indicate the humiliated pig skulking out of the pit amid storms of laughter. “To make a fool of yourself? To prove you’re somehow better? Just because Prince Tygra isn’t here –”

She stumbled over her own words, because the swordsmen ringing her and Lion-O had begun to laugh at them.

Felline tried to ignore them. “Please, this isn’t necessary. I’m sure there’s some other way to earn coin –”

“Enough,” Lion-O snarled.

She flinched from the anger shivering in the single word. They stared at each other.

“The wind,” Felline heard from the direction of the obelisk. A giant of a man stood there, his sword an obscenity of black, serrated metal. “The trees. The morning dew on a delicate orchid. They all tremble . . .”

She also heard their little audience telling her to shut her mouth and let her man be a man. They were judging her on her gender, on her looks. One of them called her “pretty kitty” and she choked on a revolted hiss. She longed to tell them to mind their own business – what did it matter to them what she said to Lion-O? Did her presence somehow diminish their own masculinity? If he hadn’t forced his way into the middle of so many creatures, she’d have been more than happy to tell him these things in private!

By the fur rising along his shoulders, she could tell that the insults were burning Lion-O’s ears as much as hers.

“Who says I’m going to lose?” he demanded of her in a furious half-whisper, leaning close. “Even if I do, you’re right – I am your king. It is your duty to have a little faith in me.”

Lion-O’s blue eyes were hard, accusatory, and, there and gone so quickly she wasn’t sure she’d seen it, hurt. “For once, can’t somebody trust me?” he demanded. “It wouldn’t kill you! But you – none of you – ever bother to try!”

Stung into silence, Felline helplessly watched him march toward the pit.

“Leave your mommy at home next time,” one swordsman scoffed at Lion-O’s back.

“That’s it, Red, be a man!” another called.

Felline clenched her teeth, fighting sudden tears. Rude, loud, dirty, smelly swordsmen! Worse than farmers!

Felline sighed. If she was honest with herself, the catcalling wasn’t really the reason she wanted to cry. It was the hurt she’d glimpsed in Lion-O’s eyes. She hadn’t thought about it in quite that way, how all of their constant advice and second-guessing must make him feel. For his whole life, he’d been compared to Prince Tygra, who was older, stronger, faster, and smarter. What was a cub supposed to do with that? Even if none of those things about Tygra were true, if she’d been told them often enough, she would believe them with her whole heart, too.

The yellow creature, whose warty nose resembled an overlarge potato, penciled in the dimensions of the newest gouge in the obelisk. He closed his notebook and tucked it down the front of his coveralls. “Is there no one else who will take the challenge?” he cried.

“I accept,” Lion-O called. He walked with his usual confidence, broad shoulders straight, head high. At the sight of a ThunderCat, a few brief mutters broke the hush and then quickly died. His grin – Felline recognized it, even if the rest of the crowd couldn’t properly read a cat’s moods. She’d worn the same smile on her own face often enough.

So how did it feel? Probably a lot like it felt to be Lepra’s little sister. Small. Insignificant. Not worth a second glance.

Lion-O was worth it. He was beautiful in the ashy yellow sunlight, red and gold and blue, arrogance and self-confidence wrapped about his figure like a cloak. But that’s all it was: A façade to protect the small, hurt, insignificant cub lingering inside.

Was she such a witch that the minute she stepped out of Lepra’s shadow, she tried to force someone else into it?

The yellow creature craned his neck to address Lion-O. “Do you have anything to say?”

“Only to the other competitors,” Lion-O said amiably. He glanced over his shoulder, his grin wicked. “You’re all vying for second place.”

Appreciative laughter met these words. Felline cast a doubtful eye around. In one short sentence, Lion-O had somehow gained the interest of most of the crowd.

The only thing he’d asked from her was a little trust.

All right, then. Felline fixed her eyes on the tall, strong form of her king. _Show me what I can trust. Show me a ThunderCat I can believe in._

Lion-O took it slow. He drew the Sword, which obediently and silently extended. He held it up as if about to perform Sight Beyond Sight, or perhaps to show the Eye its target. Never once had she doubted the connection between them, the mystical sword and the lion. The Sword had claimed him as its master. It was a powerful thing to behold.

He approached the obelisk. Paused.

With a yell, he struck.

The sword made a slick, ringing _shing,_ but that was it. There was no flash of metal grinding against the stone, no gray chips flying off the whole. Nothing. Supremely unconcerned, Lion-O turned his back on the obelisk. He sheathed the Sword, which was still ringing with its sweetest voice, the one that sent shivers down Felline’s back.

More laughter erupted, but Felline could feel the tension that had thickened the air.

She heard it, even if no one else yet had: a cracking, splitting noise.

The laughter stopped as abruptly as though time had frozen. A vertical line appeared on the stone’s face. As the crowd watched in disbelief, the line lengthened, crawling toward the sky. Groaning, the obelisk fell to the ground in two clean halves.

This time, the cheers were so loud they hurt Felline’s sensitive ears. She burst from the thicket of bodies and ran out to meet her king. He caught her eye and grinned. She wanted to throw her arms around him. However, she stopped short of touching him, a momentary confusion spreading through her.

Predictably, Lion-O didn’t notice. “Where do I get my money?” he demanded of the squat yellow officiator.

Smirking, the potato-nosed creature held up a sack heavy with coins.

..::~*~::..

The coins were crude and hand-stamped, with holes in their centers so that their owners could string them together. Their simplicity and lack of a bank number spoke of travelers with no fixed origins. Felline liked a particular one, a funny, skinny cylinder two inches long, but she passed it over to the merchant without complaint, along with squares of brass or nickel and circles of copper. She accepted the parts Panthro needed for the ThunderTank, wrapped them in the rags she’d brought, and tucked them away in her ill-fitting pack. Then she ran gaily off to meet up with Lion-O, the pack satisfyingly heavy.

“Now, that should cover it,” Lion-O said to the smiling vendor who had been so helpful, his pack bulging and an extra bedroll in his arms. The coins clinked in the vendor’s misshapen hand.

“I got it all,” Felline said breathlessly, grinning up at Lion-O. _Thanks to you._

Her feelings toward him had undergone the most amazing transformation. No longer was he a big-mouthed braggart or a foolish, jealous child, not in her eyes. She was proud of her king.

His mood seemed to have lifted as well. He returned her grin, newfound companionship making them both giddy. “I’m getting kinda hungry. Want to go find something to eat before we head back?”

She nodded, passing over what remained of her change. They were discussing options when a smooth, sardonic voice intruded.

“An impressive victory,” it said.

Felline started. It was him! The purple-skinned swordsman who had told her, _You need something with a bit more_ scratch. There was no mistaking that small, pointed face, black hair slicked to the skull and brushed into two points behind pointed ears. He wore the most flamboyant clothes, from his sleek boots to his fitted frock coat and to his midnight-blue cravat, expensively reflective at the edges with cloth of gold.

Most extraordinary of all, however, was the device he wore on his back, sort of like a tortoise shell made of two shields sandwiched together. A sunburst of sword hilts and blades protruded from the shell and spread around his thin figure, seven in all, and he wore an eighth and a ninth on either bony hip. They were all styles and sizes, no craftsmanship a match for the others.

The look on Lion-O’s face at the sight of this bizarre figure made Felline giggle.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the swordsman said. “I am the Duelist. You, my friend, have something I desire.”

Felline stopped giggling. He had fangs as sharp as hers behind those thin lips. A mustache longer than a cat’s whiskers curled up at the tips with each word he spoke. His eyes had no whites; his glittering irises were a malevolent red in the centers of black sclera. Even his eyebrows rose into sharp points on his narrow forehead.

“Sorry,” Lion-O said, trying not to laugh. “Snarf’s not for sale.”

It took the petcat a second to realize what his master had said. He dove between Lion-O’s feet, covering his eyes with his tiny paws.

“He’s kidding,” Felline murmured to her little friend. She knelt and gathered him into her arms, where he settled with a disgruntled, “Snyarf.”

The Duelist never lost his smile. “Your sword against my best blade,” he said as if there had been no interruption. “Winner takes all.”

Lion-O, too, stopped laughing. He looked at the Duelist for a moment and then calmly said, “Not interested. I’ve already proved I’ve got the best sword in town.”

Too right he had. Felline turned to go, but again, the Duelist prevented them.

“Indeed,” he said, still smiling. He reminded Felline of the Drifter, the way Lion-O’s words seemed to roll off him. “The Sword of Omens is legendary, even in these parts. But it’s not your blade that needs to prove itself.”

He lifted one arm and pointed with a black-gloved finger. “It’s you.”

How dare he! Felline bristled, unintentionally squeezing Snarf too hard. He let out a strangled _nyaa_ but looked at Lion-O in concern.

“I said no,” Lion-O said, the hint of a growl tainting his words.

“A wise decision,” the Duelist agreed. “Perhaps if the last owner of that sword shared your cowardice, he’d still be alive.”

How _dare_ he! Felline bared her fangs, hissing over the squirming bundle of fur that was Snarf. Who did this man think he was? If he dared to besmirch Claudus’s name by letting it touch his filthy lips –

The Duelist was the one quietly laughing now, his red eyes following the tip of her tail as it lashed back and forth.

“You’re on,” Lion-O rasped, fighting, in his fury, to speak clearly. “Might as well hand over your best sword right now.”

“The town square,” the Duelist said in a low, threatening voice, the smile going cruel. “High noon.”

He walked away.

Felline had half a mind to go after him, hunt him down like a dog for the things he had said, both about Claudus and Lion-O, but the vendor, who had been still as a rock behind them, suddenly spoke.

“You sure got guts,” he said worriedly in his slow, twangy accent, beetle-black eyes shadowed by the brim of his floppy hat. “The Duelist is a legend in these parts. Those swords on his back? Trophies from all those who have fought him, and lost. He is without conscience or morals, and he will not stop until his thirst is slaked.”

The vendor scratched absently at his bare chest, tickled by his bushy beard, all smiles gone. “Now he wants your sword, and it will be his.”

Wordless, Felline looked up at Lion-O, whose complicated blue eyes were pinched at the corners.

“Whiskers,” he said to himself.

Snarf jumped out of Felline's arms and circled around, mewing plaintively up at his master. Timidly, Felline reached out, touched her fingers to his forearm. _Come on. I want to get out of here._

Expression grim, he nodded. Neither of them remotely hungry, they wended their way through the town until they found a quiet courtyard behind an unused forge. The ash and filth that had turned the sky orange didn’t lay so thick there, and patches of scraggly grass hung on for dear life. Felline dropped her pack with a thud in the dirt.

Lion-O also dropped his burdens. He drew the Sword and put on the Gauntlet. There in the empty courtyard, he squared off against an invisible enemy. He slashed and thrust, blocked and parried, the orange sunlight sliding off the blade like oil.

Snarf, sitting atop a pile of tinder, tilted his head. “Nyah.”

“Run?” Lion-O said as if repeating something. Not for the first time, Felline wondered if Lion-O could understand Snarf’s simplistic language. He chuckled. “I’m no coward, Snarf. Besides, someone needs to teach that guy a lesson.”

“If he has eyes he doesn’t know how to use them,” Felline muttered, crossing her arms. “Did he not see what you did to the stone? The Sword of Omens won’t respond to just any wielder. It is yours by birthright. What hope does he have of taking it from you?”

Perhaps because they were the only cats in this entire town, and she was sick of abusing her eyes on so many ugly creatures, it struck her again how pretty her king was for a lion. Lion-O gripped the singing Sword in both hands. He smirked at her uncharacteristically long speech. She smiled back.

“He may be tough,” Lion-O said when a wave of electricity spiraled from the blade’s hilt to its tip, “but nothing the Duelist has in his scabbard can beat the Sword of Omens.”

Pride welled up in Felline. She dropped her arms, standing a little taller.

“There’s that ego kicking in again,” the Drifter drawled.

The rabbit dangled by his tattered scarf on the bladed wall. He lifted one paw in a wave. “Mind helping me down?”

“Drifter,” Lion-O said in a tone that meant, _Figures._ He frowned. “I know what you’re gonna say, that I shouldn’t have accepted his challenge.”

“Why would I care what you do?” the Drifter asked serenely, flapping in the wind like a discarded sock. “You’re the one who’s going to lose his sword, not me.”

“I can swing steel a lot better than you think,” Lion-O said, whipping the Sword through the air.

The Drifter’s smile, if possible, deepened. His paw drifted to the willow twig in his mouth and pulled it out. “You could’ve fooled me with those moves. You couldn’t even split this reed.”

“You’re crazy! Did you see what this sword did to that boulder?”

“If I only had your spirit,” the Drifter chuckled. He returned the willow twig to its spot next to his front teeth. “But the fight left me long ago. How about I give you three swings?”

“I’ll do it in one,” Lion-O stated. He accepted the pole Felline had found in the tinder pile and, as if the Drifter weighed less than Snarf, lifted him off the wall and deposited him on the ground.

Now that they were standing next to each other, Felline was surprised to discover that she and the lop-eared rabbit were nearly the same size. He’d seemed much bigger than that, somehow, but Lion-O towered over them both. He tossed the pole away.

Ever so slightly, the Drifter bowed, smiling benignly.

Then, his black eyes opened wide at the ringing of the Sword. Felline leaped out of the way when Lion-O attacked, letting out a battle yell.

Only a lion could make a sound like that, she thought grumpily, smoothing her tail. He swung, right at the Drifter, who was lifted into the air with the force of the displaced air. He spun around three times before landing, unharmed, on his feet. The reed in his mouth fluttered.

“That’s one,” he said cheerfully, his long, dark hair in his face. “Could’ve warned me, but you’re impatient, I can tell.”

Lion-O growled, too wound up for speech. He attacked again. The Drifter floated above the blade’s arc and drifted, soft as a sigh, behind Lion-O, whose eyes widened in disbelief.

“Two!” the Drifter informed the back of his head, still airborne. “There is such a thing as trying too hard. That’s why I prefer not trying at all.”

“Stop –” Felline started to say. Lion-O had been tricked. She could see that he wasn’t going to win this one, but he was beyond hearing.

Before the Drifter touched the ground, Lion-O whirled and swung again, and again, sending the rabbit flying into the air seven times. The eighth swing brought his blade down into the pile of tinder, right where Snarf had been sitting a second before.

“Lion-O!” Felline shouted angrily, shielding the trembling petcat.

Locked in his rage, Lion-O glared at her, panting. She glared right back. Reason returned to his gaze, which he then averted.

“Well, that was more than three, but I don’t care,” the Drifter drawled, coming to rest on the ground. “I made my point.”

“There was a point?” Lion-O gasped, trying to catch his breath. He sank to one knee, bracing himself against the Sword as if it were a cane.

Troubled, Felline looked at the Drifter. She had seen his point even if Lion-O had not. What she didn’t understand was why. Why do this? What stake did the rabbit have in all this?

“Willows are weak, yet they bind other wood. Just some advice, take it or leave it,” the Drifter mumbled, swaying on his feet. “A weakness can be turned into a strength, a lesson you won’t understand until it’s too late. You’re just like he was.”

“The Duelist?” Lion-O asked, confused.

“No.” Inexplicably, the rabbit beamed. “The original owner of the sword the Duelist now uses. The Sword of Hattanz-O. Forged by a man who some called . . . the greatest sword maker of all time.”

A slight frown pulled Felline’s brows together, but she didn’t interrupt. She felt like she was sitting one of her lessons with Master Korvu while he waited for her to put the pieces together.

“The sword maker lived a lonely life, devoted to only one thing: his craft,” the Drifter went on, as if speaking to himself. “But this particular blade was . . . more than a sword. It was a work of art. His most prized possession and proudest achievement. The Sword . . . of Hattanz-O.

“Like you, he felt a sense of oneness with the weapon. With it, he was unstoppable . . . he thought. Word spread of the legendary blade.” The Drifter’s voice, while still quiet, was gaining life and emotion. “One day, the Duelist appeared and challenged the sword maker to a fight. . . . The sword maker accepted the challenge. In his hubris . . . the sword maker believed the strength of his sword would overcome his weakness as a warrior. . . . He was mistaken, and it cost him the one thing he valued most.

“To know that his work of art, his masterpiece, would be in the hands of a villain like the Duelist, crushed him. He never made another sword, while the Duelist went on to become the greatest swordsman to ever walk the land.”

“Whatever became of the sword maker?” Lion-O asked, captivated.

“Who knows?” the rabbit murmured. “Some say he just . . . drifts around, blowing wherever the wind takes him, a shell of the man he once was.”

There was a short silence. Having caught the Drifter’s meaning not long into his tale, Felline waited.

“You,” Lion-O breathed, cottoning on at last. “I’m fighting against a sword you forged.” His voice rose in desperation. “I need your help! How can I beat it?”

“You can’t, understand?” the Drifter snapped, his smile long gone. He turned and began to walk away. “Nobody can.”

Lion-O stared after him, the Sword of Omens planted point-down in the dirt.

..::~*~::..

A steam whistle announced noon with one shrill, deafening blast. There was nothing to be done except to meet the Duelist as planned. Alone, Lion-O marched to the center of the town’s square. Only dust moved in the hot wind; the place was deserted.

“You can defeat him,” Felline had said. “I believe in you.”

Cheetara might have done more, put her hand over his, gazed at him through her lashes with those smoldering eyes. Felline, with her eyes of ice, only had her words, and they were hard enough to come by.

She watched Lion-O from the safety of the raised wooden sidewalk, Snarf at her feet.

_I believe in you._

They faced off in the square, the swordsman and the lion. For a moment, the silence was broken only by the clanking of an old, tired machine in one of the buildings nearby. The Duelist spoke.

“Punctual,” he said, twisting one of his mustaches into a more pronounced curl. He smiled. “I like that.”

Lion-O said nothing. He drew the Sword of Omens and extended it.

It was then that the wind brought a scent to Felline: An herbivore, one who hadn’t washed in a while. A scent she knew.

So. He’d come to watch, too. Did that mean he believed Lion-O would win or was it a gesture of mourning, a vigil he’d kept for every sword adorning the Duelist’s back, including his own?

“Whenever you’re ready,” the Duelist called.

“Whenever you are,” Lion-O returned, declaring himself the more skilled swordsman.

“Fine,” the Duelist whispered, the smile dropping from his thin lips. “Draw!”

With reflexes only a cat could command, Lion-O rushed the Duelist before he’d finished the last word. Yelling, he swung.

And struck the ground. Felline gasped. Like an enormous spider, the Duelist had leaped into the air, a black shadow against the sun. He drew the swords at his hips on the way down. Both sliced into the dirt, for Lion-O had rolled away.

Immediately, Lion-O went on the offensive. He slashed and stabbed at the Duelist. Smiling, the Duelist dodged each swing. He bent and swayed out of harm’s way. Lion-O must have recognized what was happening, but he pressed his attack. He clearly hoped to pin the Duelist against the railing that bordered the sidewalk.

Which was what the Duelist wanted. Abruptly, he stepped around the attacking lion like a dancer trading places with his partner. Lion-O stumbled into the railing. Felline, who had been leaning against it with her heart in her mouth, backpedaled with a cry of warning. He whipped around.

The Duelist was on him, his left-hand sword striking at the Gauntlet; Lion-O’s fist went up with the force of the blow. The Duelist’s right-hand sword was already incoming; the Sword of Omens blocked it, but the blade was torn from Lion-O’s grasp. With an almighty _clang,_ it spun up and embedded itself in the roof overhang.

Disarmed and trapped, Lion-O made no sound, his hands in the air in the universal gesture of surrender.

The Duelist smiled. He raised his swords. Any moment now, he was going to strike again, sink one of those deadly blades into Lion-O’s unprotected throat.

Felline launched herself over the fence. She yanked her rifle out of its holster and leveled it at the Duelist’s smirking, pointed face.

The epitome of composure, he eyed the rifle, and then her. As if curious about this new obstacle, the gritty wind pushed at them, explored the triangle formed by their three bodies. She could feel Lion-O’s heavy breathing on her arm.

“You do know that firearms are prohibited in this town,” the Duelist said conversationally.

Felline said nothing. She didn’t know if he was lying to her or not. It didn’t matter.

The Duelist smiled at her. “The mob rules in these parts. Justice is swift and,” he paused nastily, “permanent. Are you going to risk a very public execution over a sword?”

She flicked off the safety. The rifle whined as it powered up. Felline’s heart was pounding, but she hid her fear behind a look of purest loathing. The barrel never wavered. Yes. Not for the Sword. That was already lost to them. But for _him_ . . . Yes.

The Duelist pulled the Sword of Omens free. It shrank, the Eye of Thundera the dull, rusty red of dried blood. He slid the blade into place in the device on his back.

With the greatest treasure of the ThunderCats held thus captive, the Duelist walked away.

Next to Felline, Lion-O’s knees gave out. He slid to the ground, one arm caught by the railing. Swiftly, she knelt to see if he was hurt.

His eyes, so blue, were fixed and staring.

..::~*~::..

Nothing Felline said could shake Lion-O from his stupor.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure something out.” Soothing words that received no response. “You heard the vendor. No one wins against him. He’s been doing this for a long time.” Reason, in one ear and out the other. “You couldn’t let what he said go unanswered.” _Right?_ she asked herself uneasily. The doubts were eating at her, too.

“What have I done?” he asked the ground between his feet in a hollow, dead voice. It was the first thing he’d said in twenty minutes.

“You kept your word,” she said staunchly. Robust support, that was what Lion-O needed.

“Without the Sword of Omens, our mission is doomed.”

Well, all right, she couldn’t argue against that. “Then you have to get it back.”

“I can’t.” His face hadn’t lost that staring, slack-jawed disbelief.

“You mean you aren’t even going to try?” she asked. She stood and backed away from him. They were wasting time, and she was starting to get angry. How much more could she say to bolster his ego? Too much more of this and she’d cross the boundary of what she could truthfully say and start feeding him lies. “Maybe you were right, then. You should never have accepted his challenge.”

The Gauntlet’s claws twitched. Felline saw and made a split-second decision.

Rather than bolster his ego, she was going to stomp it flat.

“I knew this was a bad idea right from the start,” she spat, bending her ears back. She hadn’t holstered her rifle. She jabbed it at him with every angry sentence. “I didn’t want to come here, remember? You never listen to anything anyone says. You get an idea in your head, and you can’t let it go, even when you know it’s bad. You are such a child. Look at you sitting there on your rear – Boohoo, woe is me, there’s a guy out there who’s better at swinging a sword around than I am!”

He switched his empty stare from the dust to her face as if he’d never seen her before.

“You know what I heard when my family moved to Thundera? How everybody thought that your brother should be the king. How worried they were about their futures with you on the throne, because you were this crazy cub with unrealistic ideas. Bastien told me that you never paid attention to your duties as a prince, and now I can see that he was right.” She had hit some sort of stride, and, forgetting herself, kept going, getting louder by the second. “Because of your pride and arrogance, a stranger now holds the heart and soul of Thundera. How many centuries has it been since your ancestor first claimed it, Lion-O? How does it feel to be the end of the ThunderCats?”

“Where do you get off saying all that?” he spluttered.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot – I’m not a royal, am I?” she sneered. “Well, excuse me for breathing, but I’m not the one who gave up my birthright without a fight!”

“I did fight!”

“You call that fighting? It was pathetic! You were never fit to be king!”

“You know nothing about it!”

“Want to prove me wrong? Then get off your butt and prove it!”

“Shut up!” he roared. In a flash, he was on his feet, and he was a lot bigger than she was. “What happened to all that ‘I believe in you’ garbage? You were there the whole time, telling me that I could defeat him!”

“I know!” she yelled. She allowed her rifle to sag at her side, her ears to come forward in supplication. Her eyes swam. “I did say that. Because I do believe in you.”

He stared at her, chest heaving, fury and confusion battling across his face.

“I believe in you,” she repeated with complete, naked, vulnerable honesty. “You can’t give up. You can’t. Please.”

Her voice wobbled at the end, and he gagged on whatever he’d been about to say. She was crying now, awash in the backlash of emotions. Lion-O stared, appalled, at her tears.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you,” she said. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for a while now. I’m sorry for everything I’ve said. None of it was fair, not today, and not – not then.”

Once she stopped shouting, the tension bled out of him, too. He sighed.

“Some of it was,” he said in a low voice. He tilted his head back, contemplated the ashy sky. “You know what? You look all sweet and cute, but you’re mean. Why is it that every time you yell at me, I feel like I’ve been punched in the head?”

Cute?

He caught her eye and gave her a wry grin. In spite of herself, she made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sniffle.

“I could punch you in the head if it would make you feel better,” she offered.

“No, thanks.”

“What if it makes me feel better?”

He laughed aloud. “I bet you hit like a kitten.” Then, his expression determined, he drew a deep breath. “I’ve got to win it back.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” she said, relieved. She put the rifle away. “What are you going to do?”

He shook his head, but before he could speak –

“Can you believe it? Stuck again,” the Drifter drawled from a nearby fence.

Felline and Lion-O exchanged sidelong glances and grinned.

“Could you help me down?” the rabbit asked plaintively, his furry face utterly woebegone. “Or, maybe . . . you should just . . . leave me up here. Either way, I don’t care.”

As if they’d leave him. The Drifter had gotten caught much closer to the ground than usual. Lion-O walked up to him and lifted him gently down by the arms. His legs waggled like wet noodles, so Lion-O laid him unprotestingly on his back atop a lumber pile.

“I need you to make me a sword,” Lion-O said to the bundle of limp laundry that was the erstwhile sword maker, whose paw hung listlessly at his side.

The Drifter frowned with his eyes closed, looking like a man having a nightmare. “So, my warnings were just a breeze blowing through your ears?” he drawled.

Something like that, Felline thought. She hid her grin in her fist. There was nothing but a big kingly air pocket between those pointy ears.

“I didn’t think you’d listen but if you expect me to help you haven’t been paying attention,” the Drifter said.

“We both lost something precious,” Lion-O said stubbornly. “But we can get it back.”

The Drifter heaved a sigh. “Sounds like too much work.”

“Fine. Then I’ll do it myself.” Lion-O turned and walked away, waving Felline and Snarf to follow, which they did. Felline cast a last backward glance.

The Drifter looked as though he’d fallen asleep, but his repose, faked or not, didn’t seem peaceful.

..::~*~::..

Felline cringed with every strike of the hammer. Sparks flew in the darkness, singeing her fur. Steam and soot burned her nose, which had started running.

“Sorry!” she gasped when the slab of red-hot metal jumped under the blows of the hammer. She was supposed to be holding it steady. Her goggles flashed a readout at her, criticizing their work and instructing her how to fix it, which she conveyed in a tight voice. Readjusting her sweaty grip, she tried to brace herself for the next strike.

Lion-O said nothing. It was clear he only sort of knew what he was doing, but also that he was determined to see it through. They’d spent nearly all that was left of their coin to buy the supplies and tools needed to smith a new sword. Now here they were, holed up in the abandoned, dim forge, sweating and frustrated.

Two-handed, he brought the hammer down. The shock that slammed through the iron nearly tore Felline’s shoulders out of socket.

The door opened. The doorway and the furnace both glowed blindingly orange until Felline’s goggles compensated for the extra light. She winced as Lion-O continued to bash away. She heard a chuckle over the ringing metal.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the Drifter asked, amused.

“You may be content to flop around feeling sorry for yourself, but I’m not,” Lion-O grunted. Sweat glistened in the fur down his arms. Felline could smell him through the tang of superheated metal and charcoal smoke, the pleasantly musty scent of the plains in high summer. The smell of a lion, a Thunderian king. “I’ll make one hundred more swords if I have to. I’m going to defeat him.”

More sparks. Felline grimly hung on. Her goggles patiently mapped out vectors and a whole string of other numbers that she didn’t quite understand.

“Not that I care,” the Drifter said from the doorway, “but . . . you’re doing it all wrong. You need to –”

“Thanks,” Lion-O said gruffly, cutting him off with a dirty look, “but I can handle it.”

Unfortunately, Felline ruined his bluff. She yelped in pain at the next hammer blow. She released the unfinished sword as if it had burned her. Blood blisters filled like bloated little ticks in her fur.

Lion-O grabbed the slab of iron with one hand kept hammering.

“You don’t give up easily, do you?” the Drifter asked, and smiled. He sidestepped Felline, who put her finger in her mouth, and ducked under the swing of Lion-O’s arm. Gently, he took the hammer. “Here, let me show you.”

He positioned the iron slab and the hammer. In spite of being so small, he worked with sure, swift strikes, and the metal glowed with renewed heat. Fascinated, Felline followed the readout of her goggles as it scrolled faster than ever, analyzing the immediate improvement. Lion-O’s face cracked in a wide grin, his eyes alight. They both leaned closer.

It took all of thirty seconds for the Drifter to lose his phenomenal patience with both cats breathing over his shoulders. He threw down his tools, put a paw in Lion-O’s lower back, and grabbed Felline by the tail. With the strength of someone much bigger, he pushed and pulled, ignoring their protests. He evicted them from the forge, leaving them standing open-mouthed in the dusty courtyard. Without a word, he shut the door in their faces.

Smoke was still rising from the chimney when Felline returned with lunch in a basket, and still, the clang of the hammer went on. Arms crossed, Lion-O paced in ever tightening circles in front of the closed door. Snarf watched his progress with wide eyes.

“Come eat,” she called over to them. She set her basket on top of a pile of pipes. “By the way, this was the last of our coin. We won’t be able to stay here tonight or eat tomorrow unless you can think of another way to get some money.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to pull the same stunt twice,” Lion-O grumbled. “And we can’t stay here, anyway. WilyKit still needs that medicine. We have to hurry.”

“Then it all depends on the Drifter, doesn’t it?” she asked with a meaningful glance at the forge.

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Lion-O threw down his arms, stomped to the forge, opened the door, and stuck his head inside.

“Done yet?” he asked, his voice muffled.

Felline, handing a still-warm drumstick to Snarf, tilted her ears toward the forge. She could hear the Drifter’s annoyed answer: “No.”

Lion-O shut the door.

..::~*~::..

“Who’s Bastien?”

In the middle of licking her fingers clean, careful not to upset the bandage covering her blisters, Felline looked over at Lion-O. “Bastien?” she repeated dumbly.

“You said he told you about me.” There was nothing but frank curiosity in his expression. “Who is he?”

Oh, yeah. She had said that.

“Was,” she corrected. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. They sat on the pile of pipes in the shade of a building whose stucco crumbled down her back. “Bastien was a city guard.” Then, deciding she may as well be honest, she added, “He was my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” One little word, and it conveyed so much: surprise, embarrassment, understanding. Lion-O looked at his lap and then spoke sideways at her. “You were serious?”

She smiled. “No. But I liked him for a while.”

Leaning her head back, she felt more of the stucco crumble in her hair. She didn’t care. Clouds rolled across the ashy sky. It felt like the whole world had gone to sleep except for them. All she could hear was the clang of the sword maker’s hammer. It was as if time had stopped. Waiting was like that.

“There wasn’t enough time to be serious,” she said. “See, we met the day before the attack. When it started, he took me to a shelter, and then went off to fight. I don’t know what happened to him after that. It was only luck that got me out of the city. My sister Lepra wasn’t so lucky. I suppose he wasn’t, either.”

Lion-O’s face was somber now, his blue eyes dark as he listened.

“Bastien was nice. Funny. I wish I could have spent more time with him. . . .” Why was she telling Lion-O this? Now it was Felline’s turn to feel awkward. She hadn’t spoken of Bastien to anyone, not since the festival. Maybe it was right that someone else knew his name. Knew he’d existed. Would remember him.

“We’re going to get it back,” Lion-O said in a low voice, speaking to the hand that curled into a fist on his thigh. “The Sword. Our home. All of it. We’re going to take it back from Mumm-Ra. I swear it.”

“I know.” Felline bit her lip. In some ways, Lion-O reminded her of Bastien. She wouldn’t tell him that, though. The palace guard with the pale gray eyes was gone, and Lion-O was Lord of the ThunderCats. And she, well, she was only a countryman’s daughter. Bastien had been able to see her for who she truly was. It wasn’t right to expect the same sort of interest from a king. He had much bigger things to worry about.

They lapsed into silence. Between them, Snarf fell into a doze. Copying her, Lion-O pulled his legs in so that he could rest his chin on his knees, eyes closed in contemplation. Felline wondered what he was thinking about – his father, perhaps, his kingdom, Bastien, the other ThunderCats – but then his eyes opened, and a sly smile spread across his face. He looked at the smoking forge, and she realized she’d given him too much credit.

He hopped off the pipes and bounded over to the forge. He opened the door. Stuck his head inside.

“How about now?”

“No!”

Lower lip pushed out, Lion-O shut the door.

..::~*~::..

Using wood chips and flat stones onto which she’d drawn charcoal dots, Felline and Snarf attempted a game of dominoes. While the makeshift, misshapen game pieces didn’t lie flat, Snarf proved to be a skilled opponent. He sat back on his haunches, using his tiny, dexterous paws to place the pieces. His graveyard was full of her bones.

Lion-O hadn’t been able to sit through half the first game. He’d resumed his pacing, walking circles around the forge, his chin on his fist, his mind a thousand miles away.

Tallying her points, which were much lower than Snarf’s, Felline heard when his footsteps stopped. She looked up.

This time, he didn’t open the door but called through it. “How much longer? Is it ready?”

The door flew open, nearly smacking him in the face. _“No!”_ the Drifter yelled.

He slammed the door shut, which left Lion-O dejectedly staring at it.

..::~*~::..

It was hot. And boring. And still, the hammer clanged on.

There wasn’t much to talk about that wasn’t painful in one way or another. They tried several subjects without success before giving up. Lying curled up on the ground with Lion-O sprawled next to her, his back resting against the door they could not pass through, Felline fell asleep.

..::~*~::..

“Hey,” Lion-O said in her ear.

His hand descended on her shoulder, scattering her dreams so thoroughly she would never remember them. “Wake up. It’s time to go.”

“Mmm?” Blearily, she sat up, pushing her hair behind her ears. “Is it done?”

“Yeah.” Lion-O showed it to her, the competitive glint alive in his eye.

It was a sword. That was all the praise that came to her mind. It was completely different than the majestic Sword of Omens, its blade curving into a needle-sharp point and holding a single edge. There was no hand guard. Lion-O seemed happy with it, resting it on his shoulder. She allowed him to pull her to her feet.

The Drifter hurried out of the forge, dirtier than ever, his black eyes pouched in exhaustion. “Lion-O,” he urgently said, “a strong sword doesn’t make you strong. Remember, willows are weak, and yet –”

“– they bind other wood,” Lion-O finished with an indulgent smirk. “Yeah, I know, I know.”

As he walked away, tossing a wave over his shoulder, the Drifter gave him what was probably his first real smile in a long, long time.

“Hey,” Felline murmured at Lion-O’s side, still drowsy. “Do you know where the Duelist is?”

By the look on his face, she surmised he’d simply planned to roam the town until he found the Duelist. She sighed. The Drifter, however, breezed by them, his willow reed wilted from the heat of the forge.

“Come with me,” was all he said.

..::~*~::..

The Drifter and Felline peered through the slats of the saloon’s doors, watching as a smiling Duelist held up a lemon in his black-gloved hand. Using a knife, he sliced the fruit, sending the rings neatly into the mugs of his companions. Even though there was no one else sitting on the deck, the Duelist did not see Lion-O mount the stairs, Snarf trotting beside him.

The last lemon slice sailed toward a mug but never made it. Quick as a biting snake, Lion-O quartered it in mid-air with his new sword. The lemon pieces splattered on the tabletop. The swordsmen looked up, including the Duelist. Recognition flared in his red eyes.

“You might recognize the craftsmanship,” Lion-O said, leveling the blade at him.

The Duelist rested his gaunt purple cheek on his fist. “Impossible,” he said calmly. “It’s a fake. He hasn’t made a sword in years.”

“I came out of retirement,” grinned the filthy, long-haired, lop-eared rabbit, pushing out of the saloon doors. “I didn’t have much else to do today, anyway.”

The Drifter crossed his thin arms and leaned against the wall.

“I challenge you to a rematch,” Lion-O said. “But this time, for all your swords.”

The other swordsmen at the table flicked their gazes between Lion-O and the Duelist, speechless. Felline had suspected that the Duelist never dueled with anyone more than once, and, judging by their shocked faces, she’d been right.

Disregarding the blade poised inches from his jugular, the Duelist smiled and said, “That’s quite a request from someone who has only a single sword to offer in return. In addition to your blade, you must also put up your life.”

Felline clenched her teeth. She hadn’t expected that. Snarf put his tiny paws on Lion-O’s shin, shaking his head so that his tasseled ears flapped. “Nyo nyooo!”

“Deal,” Lion-O said.

Snarf sadly dropped to all fours.

Too late to turn back now. Felline briefly closed her eyes, and then swallowed her misgivings. As planned, she turned to the few patrons in the saloon and exclaimed, “Hey, did you hear? The ThunderCat challenged the Duelist to a rematch!”

Instant uproar.

“What? He’s crazy!”

“Foolish, more like. Touched in the head.”

“Are you joking? That kid has spunk!”

“ThunderCat? What ThunderCat? I ain’t never seen one of those.”

“He’s outside! Look, there he goes – that redhead there!”

As she’d hoped, the swordsmen swarmed around the saloon’s windows, shunting her aside in their eagerness to catch a glimpse of Lion-O. With a grim smile, she slipped outside, found a clump of swordsmen haggling over the prices of apples and oranges, and shouted out the news: The Duelist and the ThunderCat, a duel to the death! Then, as fast as she delivered her message, she was off again to spread the word, never letting her audience see who was shouting. By the time she made her way to the town square, the rumor had gained a life of its own, rushing ahead of her like a riptide. Creatures large and small packed the square, talking excitedly beneath a sun that looked like a hard, yellow knot low in the sky.

Felline prowled the edges of the raised sidewalk, pleased with her work. No one paid her the slightest attention, so focused were they on the upcoming duel. The Duelist always challenged his victims in private, the Drifter had told them. He liked to keep his thefts secret. Well, they weren’t going to let him do it his way any longer.

This time, the Duelist was going down, and everyone in this rotten town was going to witness his defeat.

Looking to the middle of the square, Felline caught Lion-O’s eye. Her heart swelled at his approving nod, but he, unsmiling, quickly returned his eyes to his opponent and enemy.

The sun blazed overhead. The gathered crowd jockeyed for positions, shouting at the combatants, raring to go. Felline found a place to stand at the railing, silent and unmoving.

Lion-O drew his new sword.

The Duelist drew the two at his hips, the Sword of Hattanz-O gleaming like gold in his left hand.

Without words, without a signal, they were running, headed for a collision. Their swords rang off each other, blow after blow coming almost too fast to see. Lion-O began giving ground. Swift as a cyclone, the Duelist spun, his two blades whirling. He struck at Lion-O’s blade, breaking his attack and then his guard. Like a snake, the Duelist swung through Lion-O’s defense. Lion-O managed to dodge. The tip of the Duelist’s sword whipped past his chin. Heavily, Lion-O fell. He rolled out of range as the Duelist stabbed the ground, once, twice, where he’d been lying. Then Lion-O was up again. The battle resumed.

The rotted wooden rail splintered under Felline’s claws. Everyone was shouting themselves hoarse, except for her. She watched as Lion-O’s breathing became ragged, the sweat beaded up along his forehead, the muscles along his arms slid smoothly beneath his fur, and his sword, caught by both of the Duelist’s, snapped.

“No!” he cried when a third of the blade, cracked and nicked, flew off and landed in the dirt.

Breathing hard, the Duelist called into the sudden quiet, “The sword is lost, and victory is still mine.” He advanced on Lion-O, his swords ready.

Looking very young, Lion-O backed away. He lifted the remains of his sword, scowling at it in disgusted disbelief.

Unable to contain itself at this turn of events, the crowd shifted, pushing, shoving, everyone trying to get to the front. Felline lost her place at the rail. She yowled, fighting to get it back. Something slammed into her side, then her temple. She stumbled into the building behind her. She couldn’t see anything, just a bunch of swordsmen as impassable as a solid wall. She pleaded with them to let her through, beat on the backs in front of her, but it was as if she was as insignificant as a fly. Nobody budged.

From somewhere in the crowd, the Drifter yelled, “Willows are weak, Lion-O!”

Desperately, Felline crouched and peered through the forest of legs.

The Duelist, sure of his triumph, rushed Lion-O, the Sword of Hattanz-O a blaze of yellow lightning.

And then he was past, having encountered nothing but air. He whipped around, his red eyes wide and full of horror. Not wasting a moment, he struck again, and again Lion-O bowed out of the way. Again. And again.

Felline dropped to all fours and burrowed. She wedged her head into any open space, trying to crawl through the scores of legs. She mewed in surprised protest when big, rough hands grabbed her around the middle and dragged her back.

“That’s yer man, isn’t it?” said the swordsman who had picked her up. She recognized him from earlier as one of the men who had been so rude to her. He smiled, apology and pity in his eyes. “Go on, then, kitty. Up ye get.”

As if she weighed nothing, he lifted her higher. Scrabbling with her claws, tail out for balance, Felline pulled herself onto the roof overhang. The swordsmen on the second story verandah, shocked by her sudden appearance, reached forward hurriedly to pull her to safety.

“I understand now,” Lion-O said from the square below. He leaped over the Duelist’s whistling blade and came down, light as a sigh, behind him.

In response, the Duelist tripled his attack, his speed blinding in the orange sunlight. Lion-O seemed to multiply, bowing and sliding out of harm’s way.

“Power alone is rigid,” he said, his voice awed and steady. “But if you can bend with the wind, you’ll never _break!”_

With the last word, he struck with his ruined blade and sent the Sword of Hattanz-O flying. Then, while the Duelist was distracted by the golden glimmer of his prized sword sinking into the dirt, Lion-O relieved him of his second sword, and then cut the straps to the device on his back. It landed with a dull belling. The Duelist, looking like he had a lemon slice stuck in his throat, knelt before Lion-O and what was left of the cat king’s blade.

It was over so quickly it took a moment for the Duelist’s defeat to sink in, and then the crowd went wild. Felline cheered with the rest, looking down upon her king – her friend. He had won so much that day. She was proud to be a ThunderCat.

Smiling, the Drifter walked out to meet Lion-O, who left the Duelist on his knees and staring fixedly at the beaten ground. The Duelist was nothing but a piece of trash, as worthless as the broken sword. Lion-O, every inch a Thunderian king, discarded both.

“You knew that sword would break,” he said ruefully.

It wasn’t an accusation. The Drifter waved an airy paw. “It took years to make the Sword of Hattanz-O. I made that piece of junk in an afternoon!”

Affectionately, he rapped his knuckles on Lion-O’s chest plate. “You already had what you needed to win in here.”

Felline was fixated on the lion and the smiling, skinny rabbit. She didn’t see the Duelist regaining his feet, but she heard several animals shout. She gasped as the Duelist drew a dagger and leaped for Lion-O.

“Look out!” she screamed – too far away, with no way down, and no room to draw her rifle – too late, too late!

The Drifter was already on the move. He pushed Lion-O out of the way and stopped the Duelist’s dagger.

With his willow reed.

It made a silly, papery, slapping sound against the blade. Grinning like a fiend, the Drifter wielded the reed like a sword and drove the Duelist back, knocking him over in three swift strikes, disarmed yet again. Then, displaying a sense of humor that Felline was sure had never really deserted him, the Drifter thrust the reed into one of the Duelist’s cavernous nostrils and wiggled it around.

Felline wasn’t the only one who burst out laughing, though she might have been the only one who did so with a few tears of both fear and relief.

“You’ve had your last duel,” the Drifter proclaimed in an impressively deep and menacing voice. He grinned, long-haired and filthy and ragamuffin, and enjoying the spotlight immensely. “Now, be gone!”

Empty scabbards swinging, the Duelist, in all his humiliation, ran.

From the town, from their lives.

The animals cheered.

..::~*~::..

By sunset, Lion-O and Felline had everything they needed packed and ready to go. They stood outside the bladed wall while the forges clanked and whirred behind them.

“Thank you,” Lion-O said. “For everything.”

“No,” the little rabbit responded, smiling. “Thank _you._ I haven’t felt this alive in years. I finally have a purpose again. Returning these swords to their rightful owners.”

The Drifter settled the straps of the Duelist’s device more securely on his thin shoulders so that the sword hilts stuck up around his head, turned, and began his long journey. Perhaps unwilling to allow their triumph and the slow, happy feeling that came from a job well done to fade, Felline, Lion-O, and Snarf watched his black silhouette recede until he vanished in the flaming orange of the setting sun.

“Will we see him again, do you think?” Felline murmured.

Lion-O didn’t look at her, but he smiled.

“I hope so,” he said.

Neither of them spoke much on the way back, focusing all their energy instead on returning to their friends as quickly as possible. They reached the clearing which echoed with the clanging of a hammer and the buzz of a ratchet before the sun disappeared for the night.

Cheetara, long and lithe, was resting with her back to the ThunderTank, her arms folded. Tygra straightened with an unwelcoming frown as soon as Lion-O and Felline walked out of the trees.

“What in the name of Thundera took you so blasted long?” Panthro exploded, popping out of the tank to investigate the sudden silence.

Cheetara approached to claim some of their load. Felline shrugged off her pack, grateful for the help, while Lion-O said, “I was . . . um . . .”

When he faltered, she glanced up at him. With a thrill, she realized he was looking at her, too. Something passed between them, although what, she couldn’t say.

“Off enjoying the breeze while we do all the hard work,” Tygra finished snappishly, making Felline jump and fumble her pack.

She snuck a quick sidelong glance at Lion-O, and he was doing the same thing. She grinned, understanding him perfectly. _Should we tell them?_ his look asked. Shrugging her deference to his judgment, she looked away, mindful of Cheetara’s, beautiful, curious face.

“Somethin’ like that,” Lion-O answered his brother with half a shrug, and then he grinned.

So did Snarf. Cheetara looked at them, not fooled by Lion-O’s flip response.

“That’s it! I have had it with you!” Tygra fumed, flinging the ratchet to the ground.

“Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad without me,” Lion-O said, but Tygra wasn’t charmed in the slightest by his placating tone. He switched to full lecture mode, itching to vent his spleen.

Overwhelmed by the prince’s loud voice, Felline stayed where she was, on the fringe of the camp, listening to them argue. She’d forgotten what a big presence Tygra was after only a day and a half away from him. She’d thought having to travel alone with Lion-O was nothing but a headache, but thirty seconds among her own kind had her longing for their time together, just the two of them.

“So we got lost on the way,” Lion-O was saying. “I said I was sorry! What more do you want from me?”

“You don’t get a free ride!” Tygra shouted. “You never do any work.”

“Welcome back,” Cheetara said, offering Felline a smile.

“How’s Kit?” Felline quietly asked, skirting the brothers with the cleric at her side.

“She’ll be fine, now that we have this,” Cheetara said. She held up the vial of medicine. “You did well.”

“Thank you.” Felline shyly bowed her head, and then whispered, “It wasn’t easy.”

Again, Cheetara’s sunset eyes flashed curiously toward her, and again, she didn’t pry. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but that was all.

Felline didn’t really notice. She had caught Lion-O’s eye before she entered the tank. His crooked, conspiratorial grin, given while he endured Tygra’s displeasure, made her feel as if she was full of light.


	9. Chapter Nine

If she thought that their newfound friendship would change anything, she was wrong.

Felline and Lion-O settled right back into their old roles, spreading to fit them like the mud in the tracks left by the heavy ThunderTank. It was as if Swordtown had never existed. As if, by rejoining the other cats, they completed a jigsaw puzzle, and there were only two holes left: One for Felline, and one for Lion-O, and nowhere did they touch.

The rain was relentless. It poured down in a steady stream, turning the ground to sludge. As the rain fell, spores misted up, coating metal and fur alike. The fungal forest was old, the stems of the tree-sized toadstools as cracked and hard as bark. Felline, wearing her goggles to keep the water out of her eyes, paused to comb her sopping hair back. She watched as a new clump of spongy mushrooms sprouted like tiny umbrellas, welcoming the moisture and dim light. They were kind of pretty, their tops round and colored pinkish-orange, purple, or green, patterned with lighter swirls. She wondered how long it would take for those buttons to reach the gargantuan heights of the frilled, cobwebbed giants that made up the forest.

Panthro paid none of it any mind. With his customary scowl, he worked in spite of the rain, wielding a hammer like the legendary blacksmith who had forged the Sword of Omens.

Felline reclined in the mud underneath the tank, trying to repair a broken drive wheel. She didn’t complain since anywhere on Third Earth was better than huddling inside the tank, where Lion-O didn’t talk to her because Cheetara acted like the sun in his solar system. Everywhere Cheetara went, he followed. He couldn’t help himself, and the rivalry between the brothers grew exponentially.

A thin hose snapped, spraying fluid in Felline’s face. She jerked back, grimacing, but the rain was already washing it away. She couldn’t make his neglect hurt any less by thinking about it. After all they’d gone through with the Duelist, she’d thought they were friends. Clearly, she was wrong. They were friends when no one else was around. When Cheetara wasn’t there to charm him with her smiles and her gentle teasing, or the touch of her hand, soft as a promise. If only Cheetara would acknowledge the rivalry. If only she would choose.

What if she chose Lion-O?

Felline yanked the offending hose loose. She tied a knot in it before mopping lingering fluid from the corner of her mouth. One more thing she’d have to fix.

“Problem with a tank this old, it’s always breakin’ down,” Panthro growled in sympathy. His gravelly voice fell flat, confined by the rain and the looming toadstools.

Felline scooted free, hauling the shattered sprocket wheel and several links of broken tread plates with her. “Did you find the problem?” she called up to him.

“Junk cylinder,” he said, an epithet rather than an explanation. Impatiently, he scrubbed rain out of his mismatched eyes with his scarred arm. “Blew the whole drive train.”

Great. They were going to be stuck for a while. “We need a new brake fluid line down here. The fouled tread chain must have sliced through the old one,” Felline said. She wiped her hands on her pants. “Where did you put the replacements?”

“Green box, second compartment,” he answered, head buried in the engine.

They worked for several more minutes, the only sound that of the rain and their industry.

“Huh,” Panthro grunted. “Let’s see how this works.”

“On it.” Felline set down her tools and jumped up the tank. Slinging water and mud everywhere, she slithered into the cockpit. She put her finger on the ignition. “Go!”

Panthro did whatever he was doing when she started the engine. It roared to life, all right, and then shorted out with an impressive spark and bang. Smoke billowed from the exhaust and the engine compartment, obscuring Panthro’s dismayed expression. The engine died like a drowning cat, wheezing and groaning and grinding.

The back doors of the tank hissed open. The kittens, Snarf, Lion-O, Cheetara, and Tygra bolted into the rain, coughing and spluttering on the block of smoke that came out with them.

Speechless, Felline climbed out of the cockpit. Cheetara met her eye through the cloud, and a look of resignation passed between them.

“Guess we’re sleeping outside tonight,” Cheetara sighed.

Panthro threw down the hammer, where it landed with a splat in a puddle.

Night swallowed the fungal forest, and still, it rained, cold and misty. The toadstools and mushrooms gave off a weird, diffuse light, blue and empty. Panthro and Felline continued to work, fixing one problem only to discover two more. She was stiff, tired, and hungry, but, like Panthro, wasn’t going to give up until they got the tank road-worthy again. Their friends were counting on them.

After a while, she became aware of sweet, haunting music drifting from the toadstools above her head. Kat was asleep, curled on top of a sticky umbrella halfway up, but Kit sat with her back to him, playing her flupe to the mist. Felline smiled, heartened by the music. Her eyes dropped.

Whether by accident or by design, Tygra was sitting against the stem of another toadstool, and Cheetara’s sunny head rested on his shoulder. Both were asleep. Lion-O sat alone, his face set in a familiar pout, a slow drip of rain flattening his red mane, his arms crossed to conserve warmth. A pitiful fire flickered between him and the other two like a line in the sand.

He didn’t see Felline, soaked to the skin, fur smeared with grease and mud, a wrench in her hand. He had eyes only for his brother and the woman who tangled his every waking thought.

“Are you all right?” Felline asked, hardly louder than the pattering rain.

“Things are looking up,” he said, just as quietly but a thousand times unhappier. “No transportation, nothing to eat. No shelter.”

Apparently desperate to block out the sight of Cheetara and his brother, he turned away from them, pressing his forehead into the stem at his back, and closed his eyes. The fact that he was also shutting out Felline didn’t occur to him. “If the rain stopped, it might be bearable,” he muttered.

Thunder cracked in the unseen sky, but he said nothing more.

A couple of weeks ago, Felline would have sat with him, made sure they were both dry. A few days ago, he would have smiled at her. She pushed her goggles to the top of her head and turned back to the tank. If her face was wet, it was only the rain. Or so she told herself.

Hours passed. Sleepiness came and went, but focusing on her work helped keep her mind clear. She spent a lot of time beneath the tank, only speaking when she needed a particular part or to ask Panthro a question. Once, when she squirmed out of a tight space, she thought the rain had stopped; a tarpaulin, strung across their sodden campsite, gave them the shelter that Lion-O hadn’t.

“That’s a great help,” she said, wiping down her wrench with an oily rag. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Panthro rumbled. “I didn’t do it.”

“Oh.” She glanced toward their friends, but the fire had gone out. “That was kind of them.”

With dawn came a different sort of light, pink and wet, but still the tank wouldn’t start.

She could hear the other cats stirring.

“Did the rain finally stop?” Lion-O asked drowsily.

“No,” Tygra said, “but Panthro was nice enough to put up the shelter while we were asleep.”

Frowning, Felline and Panthro exchanged a glance.

“Wasn’t me,” he said, just as he’d said the night before.

“We figured it was one of you,” Felline added.

“Don’t look at me,” Cheetara said, holding up her hands when the brothers turned to do just that.

“We’re starving,” WilyKit whined, sliding down the toadstool headfirst, apparently not interested in the mysterious tarp.

On all fours, the kittens bounded over to Lion-O’s pack.

“Yeah,” WilyKat said, digging around in it. “What’s there to eat?”

He turned the pack upside-down. Something small, moldy, and unidentifiable tumbled out.

“Aww,” the twins chorused in disappointment.

It wasn’t like there was any hunting to be done in a forest of mushrooms, or else Felline and Cheetara would have gone out for fresh meat a long time ago.

“Gonna have to do something about our food situation,” Lion-O said.

Felline had no answer for that. She started sorting through a bag of nuts and bolts, but Kat’s quick eyes spotted what no one else’s had.

“It looks like somebody already did,” he cried.

The kittens scampered across the wet ground and fell to their knees by a group of wooden bowls, filled with what looked like large, round fruit. Some were blue, others pink or orange, all banded with stripes. Happily, the twins dug in.

Panthro actually beat Felline there. He picked up a yellow fruit and bit into it, chewing appreciatively. She picked a pink one.

“What is this?” Felline gasped as her stomach gave a huge growl for more of the crunchy, juicy, sweet flesh.

“Candyfruit,” Panthro said, his mouth full.

“Take it easy,” Tygra cautioned the kittens at the mention of “candy.” He hadn’t touched the fruit. “We don’t need you any more hyper than you already are.”

He warning came too late. WilyKat and Kit, crouched amid a dozen candyfruit hulls, resembled two electrocuted skirlls, chewing with manic haste.

“Seems like we have someone helping us out,” Cheetara said.

Lion-O nodded at her. Of course he did. Annoyed, Felline picked up a couple more candyfruit and took them with her back to the tank, but she heard him ask, “Question is, who?”

The sweetness made her fangs ache, but, with a candyfruit in each hand, she glanced up at the tarp. Food. Shelter. How had she not heard anyone moving around the camp last night? The tarp was fifty feet up the toadstool-trees.

“Hey,” she said. All their hands were sticky with candyfruit juice now. “Think our helpers will come back?”

“Maybe,” Panthro rumbled. He stuck his large foot in Kat’s sugar-crazed face, keeping the kitten from snatching his candyfruit. “It’s not like we’re leaving anytime soon. Shouldn’t be too hard to find us again.”

Crookedly, Tygra grinned, his eyes on the kittens now swarming ravenously over the general. “I have an idea.”

..::~*~::..

“We shouldn’t do this,” Felline said, all the while thinking that yes, she wanted to do this.

“You don’t mean that,” Lion-O said. He ran his fingers along her bare arm, claws not quite catching in her fur. It made her shiver.

She couldn’t deny it. The need to be alone, to get away, to enjoy the sunshine free from the squabbling of her comrades, was enough to smother her sometimes. But he was here, now. He’d followed her, the sunlight burning in his mane, a softness she’d never expected to see in his proud, blue eyes, and it was all right. He was the only one who understood the need for solitude, and that sometimes, solitude wasn’t enough.

“I knew you were the one,” he went on, his gaze not on her face, but on his own hand, running lightly up and down her arm. “From the first time I saw you, I knew it was you. I want you by my side.”

He looked into her eyes then, and she trembled with the strength of the emotion she saw there.

Never taking his eyes away, Lion-O kissed her.

Felline began to lose herself in the kiss, all of her senses alive and full of him. Not sure who ended it, but aware that it was with regret on both sides, she glanced down at his fingers still combing through the dark spots in the sunny gold of her arm.

Wait. Felline was a cat of winter, not summer. . . .

She frowned, looking at the solid spots. Neither she nor Lep had spots, but beautiful, irregular rosettes. . . .

Lion-O rested his face in her hair. “I love you, Cheetara.”

_Cheetara? No! I’m Felline! Felline!_

..::~*~::..

Felline jerked awake.

It was still raining. The unnaturally perfect sunlight of her dream vanished like a shout in the wind, though there was no wind among the massive toadstools of the fungal forest. The rain fell straight down.

Whiskers, when had she fallen asleep? Twenty minutes ago? Five? She sat up, rubbing the back of her hand across her mouth, checking for drool. There was none, but Panthro eyed her with his customary scowl. Lion-O, crouched very close to Cheetara, glanced back at her sudden movement.

Felline swallowed a groan. A dream! What on Third Earth had that been about? Her, kissing Lion-O? As if!

The thought of kissing anyone right then was about as romantic as a smashed mushroom. The stink of wet cat and fungus permeated everything. Felline expected mold to start growing in her hair if she couldn’t dry it soon.

“You okay?” Panthro rumbled as quietly as he could.

Still blinking the fuzz away, Felline managed a nod. She was exhausted. They’d stayed up all night trying to repair the ThunderTank, and waited all day for their mysterious benefactors to arrive. Now, because of that ridiculous dream, she hadn’t gotten the rest she sorely needed. She could swear she heard her subconscious mind laughing its stupid head off.

She heard something else, too. A sound like a ratchet, only quieter, and it was multiplying. She and Panthro crept forward.

At Tygra’s direction, the ThunderCats had hidden at the far end of the clearing, out of reach of the tarp shelter but with an unobstructed view of the tank. What looked like furry wheels, round as balls, zipped into the deserted clearing and unerringly leaped for the tank. In mid-leap, they unfolded into animals.

They were smaller than the twins, their pelts ranging from dark brown to pale yellow. There was even a gray one, as overcast as Panthro’s fur. With the sound of gears and robotic joints, the fuzzy, expressionless creatures began to remove panels from the tank.

“What are they doing?” Lion-O asked the hide in general.

A specific general answered. “I’ll tell ya what,” Panthro snarled. “They’re messin’ with my baby!”

And he was off, sprinting for the clearing.

“Panthro, wait!” Lion-O hissed, far too late.

“What are you furry freaks doin’ to my tank?” the big cat yelled.

As one, the creatures looked blankly up, and then rolled into wheels and scattered. They squeaked when they bounced on the muddy ground, like toys, and Panthro pounced.

“Got ya!” he crowed. He lifted a struggling ball-creature by its arm.

“Put me down,” it said in a distorted voice. Felline had never heard anything like it. It wasn’t like a living animal, speaking with lungs and vocal cords. It sounded more like it was replaying a voice that had been captured, somehow, and stored in a can.

“What is that thing?” Cheetara asked when they all caught up.

“Put me down,” the thing repeated, its – mouth, Felline supposed, although it didn’t open and was just a light shaped like a mouth – flashing blue with each syllable. It didn’t look frightened, but its free arm flapped anxiously.

“Ro-Bear Bill,” it added emotionlessly, not acknowledging when Panthro set it on its metallic, clawed feet. Nor did it look at Cheetara, though it was clearly answering her. “A ro-bear berbil.”

It stood there, looking like half a stuffed animal and half a mechanical one. Felline took in the round, furry ears, rotund body, and short limbs, and realized it was supposed to be a bear. Sort of.

“NicetomeetyouRo-BearBill,” WilyKit said in an electrified rush. Her tail, and her brother’s, stuck straight up behind them, and their eyes were stretched as wide as they would go. “I’m WilyKit, and this is WilyKat, and weeeee’re theThunderCats.”

In unison, she and her brother devoured another candyfruit at top speed.

“Thunder cats?” Bill repeated, the pitch of his canned voice suggesting a question. His black eyes, like ovals of onyx, never blinked, but his light-mouth continued to flash with each word. “Berbils help thunder cats?” As if he only had one recording for every word in his vocabulary, the pitch changed in odd places, so that _berbils_ came out low, _help_ high, and _thunder cats_ exactly the same as the first time.

At once, the four other berbils returned, rolling in and popping up. One, the daffodil-yellow bear, seemed to be female. Large pink dots marked her cheeks, and a green flower was pinned to her left ear.

“I’ve never seen anything so . . .” Lion-O hesitated, stepping out of the way as the berbils rolled past him. He searched for the right word, and then settled for, _“Cute.”_

“They’ll be cute and _dead_ if they hurt my tank,” Panthro said threateningly.

Ignoring him, the berbils climbed all over the tank, their mechanical paws working busily. Within seconds, the engines fired up, smooth and smoke-free. The turbines shot a pair of blue-white flames, cleaner than Felline had ever seen, purring like contented cats. Her eyebrows jumped into her hair. With that amount of output, she wondered if the tank could fly.

“Looks like they fixed it, Panthro,” Tygra said, grinning.

“Humph!” Panthro said through his nose. “It’s just a patch. I could have done that.”

“How?” Felline murmured.

Panthro glowered at her.

The berbils shut down the engines. The brown one named Bill somersaulted to the ground.

“Come with Ro-Bear Bill,” he said, taking Lion-O’s hand and attempting to lead him away. “Berbils fix machines.”

Lion-O, however, wasn’t going to be led. He lifted his arm, his blue eyes puzzled as he watched Bill continue walking, unperturbed by the fact that he was dangling in mid-air. The little creature kept talking, too. “Berbils give candyfruit. Berbils help thunder cats?”

It was a mark of how miserable things had been that no one objected, except for Panthro.

“You coming?” Cheetara asked when the general made no move away from his tank.

Felline touched his big hand, waiting until he looked down at her. “Come on,” she murmured. “We can’t leave you here.”

“Fine,” he conceded, crossing his arms across his massive, scarred chest, “but I don’t trust anything that adorable.”

..::~*~::..

They followed the furry wheels into a world of vibrant color.

The fungal forest shrank under the widening blue sky, its umbrellas every shade of the rainbow, clustering in the shade provided by high ravine walls and grassy bridges of rock that spanned the gaps overhead.

For once, Lion-O and Tygra were companionably quiet. The brothers led the group, side by side, their heads swiveling as they took in the sights.

Cheetara, walking beside Felline, sniffed the air appreciatively. So did Felline. It even smelled colorful: alive, bright, and slightly sweet.

“I can’t figure it out,” Cheetara murmured, her eyes not on the grand, swirled blue face of the Leo moon, visible for the first time in several days, but on the berbils keeping ahead of Snarf.

Felline looked up at her questioningly.

“I don’t think they’re alive,” the cleric explained. She tucked a lock of hair behind her pointed ear. “I can sense them. They don’t mean us harm. In fact, they truly enjoy helping us.”

“Are you saying they have emotions?” Felline asked. Behind them, the rumble of the tank over the uneven ground masked their voices from the others; Panthro wouldn’t leave his baby behind, but he wasn’t driving, and he sat like a resentful gray thunderhead in the co-pilot’s seat. Kit and Kat, reclining on a cat’s-paw fender, looked around with shining eyes and big smiles.

Cheetara nodded. “Maybe, but they’re very simple. Not in the instinctual way that cubs are, but as if they’re simply limited.”

“As if they’ve been programmed with basic abilities. I wonder how they got here,” Felline mused.

“What do you mean?” the other asked, surprised.

“Well, were they built by someone? Or are they a species in and of themselves?”

Interest flashed in Cheetara’s sunset eyes. “I see. That’s an excellent question. Maybe we’ll get some answers there.”

She pointed. Below them, in a dip of land almost a perfect circle, huge pink bowers arched over a small village, the likes of which Felline had never seen, even in a book of fairy tales.

The orchards were a blaze of pink, rubbery trees, much like striped jester’s hats, the fruits clustering like multicolored bells at the tips. Mimicking their inhabitants, the houses were round and whimsical, rising haphazardly for the blue sky. They looked a lot like drawings of constellations, only made into sculptures. They shone golden and pastel under the sun. The undersides of the bowers twinkled like a starry night, releasing the sweet scent into the breeze.

Anything could happen in a magical place like this, Felline thought excitedly. They could meet a reclusive tinkerer, closeted away in a workshop, churning out helpful, eager friends, or a great and power-hungry sorcerer, lording over his furry minions. Or just the berbils themselves, tirelessly, endlessly, efficiently working.

“I’ve never seen anything like this place,” Lion-O remarked when Felline and Cheetara joined him and Tygra. “It’s like they have a contraption for everything.”

The berbils picked candyfruit seated in wheeled machines that sucked the fruit off its branches and deposited it neatly in a mesh bag; they rode treaded machines that mowed and clipped the verge; they used tall machines to wash and polish their homes; they dug and built and repaired without rest.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Panthro muttered darkly.

“What’s wrong with it?” Felline asked, grinning like the kittens. She couldn’t help it. The warmth and the industriousness, the harmony and the cleanliness, were things she’d thought were gone forever, felled by the rockets that had destroyed Thundera.

Panthro, scowling, didn’t answer.

Ro-Bear Bill drove the ThunderTank right up to the largest golden structure. Like meeces scampering out of the woodwork, berbils appeared from every direction and surrounded the cats. They made Felline feel very tall as they jumped and gamboled, cheering in their tinny, emotionless voices.

Brown-furred Bill scooped up a tiny version of himself, this one’s fur the blue of the sky, and swung him around, exactly like a father and his son.

“Meet Ro-Bear Beebo,” Bill buzzed. A pink berbil, her flower as blue as Beebo, walked up to them. Bill introduced her, too. “Meet Ro-Bear Bella. This is Ro-Bear Bill family.”

Felline caught Cheetara’s eye and grinned. There was no indication of any other being in the village – just the berbils. They had either been abandoned or had sprung up out of the Earth of their own accord.

Lion-O crouched down to Beebo’s height and smiled. Beebo did not smile back with his fixed mouth, but he reached up a metal paw and touched Lion-O’s spiky red mane wonderingly. Though they were as varied as wildflowers, none of the berbils were honey-gold like Lion-O, or flame-orange like Tygra, or sun-yellow like Cheetara. Felline stood back, aware that in the midst of all this vivid color, she stood out like a bleached rag.

Then, to her shock, little Beebo waddled up to her. He patted her arm, running his cold claws through her thick, brilliantly white fur as if he’d never seen anything so beautiful. “Snow? Pretty,” Beebo buzzed as awkwardly as if he’d never spoken before.

“Yes. Snow,” she murmured, her eyes suddenly stinging. “Thank you.”

“Thank-you.” He patted her arm one last time and then scurried for his mother’s embrace.

Felline caught Lion-O smiling at her, as if he, too, thought she was pretty. Her arm tingled, reminding her of her dream.

Her dream that had seemed so real. She had a sudden vision of herself, wearing her best gown, strolling through the main courtyard of Cat’s Lair arm in arm with Lepra. Would she have caught the crown prince’s eye then, when so many other women would have dressed to please, parading under the noontime sun for just that purpose? What a silly daydream. She gave herself a firm mental shake. Back then, Lion-O might have noticed Lepra, if not for her beauty then for her resemblance to Cheetara, and Felline would have been on Bastien’s arm. End of story.

Just then, a berbil in one of the picking machines backed it up to them, scattering these recollections before she could get too depressed and capturing the twins’ undivided attention.

“Candyfruit,” Bill said unnecessarily, gathering some out of the bag. “Eat. Good.”

“Yum! Candyfruit!” Kit caroled.

Bill gave the fruit to her and her brother, and they tucked in.

Hand on her hip, Cheetara watched this display of generosity and said, “Looks like you were worried about nothing, Panthro.”

Still scowling, he demanded, “You really think these furballs are helping us and don’t expect anything in return?”

“Have you considered maybe they’re just nice?” Lion-O impatiently asked.

Right then, the big building behind them woke up with a warning screech, its topmost spheres glowing urgent red. Felline clapped her hands over her ears, but the screeching went on. It made her fur stand on end and her heart leap against her ribcage.

“What’s going on?” Lion-O shouted.

Instead of answering, every berbil in the vicinity rolled up and shot away, escaping into a metal hole in the ground. The building continued wailing.

Felline heard the whine of the bombs a second before the first one exploded. A second one went off, sending shockwaves through the village. Lion-O looked at Bill, who was still with them in spite of the rising columns of smoke.

“Conquedor comes,” Bill explained, his expressionless robotic face somehow pleading. “Conquedor takes berbils. Sell berbils as slaves.”

Out of the flames and smoke, a massive vehicle with studded wheels slid to a clanking stop. It dwarfed the ThunderTank, a monstrosity of brass and steel. Four cannons bristled from its front end. Before the last berbils could make it to safety, it ran over their escape hole, crushing it flat.

A porthole opened in the top of the vehicle. Out popped a creature suited up in brass armor, complete with a finned steel helmet and breathing tubes. A pocketed yellow coat sagged across its pot belly. The red lenses of its goggles glinted when it spied a blue berbil running in its ungainly animal form. The yellow-coated figure disappeared as though sucked down a drain.

The rig started up. A mechanical arm unfolded into view and extended a three-fingered claw. It snatched up the berbil.

“Help Ro-Bear Bob,” the berbil buzzed, his short limbs waving stupidly.

“We have to stop that!” Cheetara rasped. She pulled her bo staff out of the loop on her belt and spun it overhead, extending it.

Felline knew what she meant – her whole body was singing, ready for action – but what action? The rig’s wheels weren’t rubber, but huge metal spheres that allowed the vehicle incredible maneuverability. No windows, no obvious joints. All that armor defied her puny rifle.

“What did I tell you guys,” Panthro rumbled over Felline’s head. “They tried to use their cuteness to get us to fight their battle.”

“Well, looks like it worked,” Lion-O growled.

For once, Tygra was in agreement. He raised his whip.

Meanwhile, the mechanical claw pulled Bob in, positioning him over a drawer that slid out of the humongous cowcatcher. Lion-O dashed right at the cowcatcher, ran up it, and took a mighty leap. He hit the berbil and knocked them both over the drawer, landing safely in the grass on the other side. Bob squirted out of Lion-O’s arms and rolled frantically away when the rig turned and gunned its engines as if to mow the young king down.

They ran, all of the cats, gathering around Lion-O to face the mechanical monstrosity. It exhaled to a steamy stop.

A full two stories off the ground, Conquedor deigned to open his hatch and show his helmeted face again.

“So the berbils have enlisted the help of the fabled ThunderCats,” he jeered.

“Nyaaar!” Snarf challenged, back arched and bristling.

With her body partly hidden by Panthro’s bulk, Felline scanned for a weakness, something she could exploit while Conquedor was busy taunting them. It didn’t look good. Conquedor, whatever species he belonged to, was squat and long-armed. His helmet seemed to sit directly on his shoulders with no neck in between. He lifted a sort of hand-held cannon onto his shoulder, priming the energy pack with a whine.

“Risking your lives for a bunch of junk heaps? And I thought these robots were brainless fools!” he called, his voice muffled and revoltingly wet. Mockingly, he bent to the side and knocked on his own helmet. It boomed hollowly.

Felline knew, without having to look at their faces, that Tygra, Cheetara, and Lion-O had already formulated counterattacks. That Panthro was preparing to shunt the kittens to safety. That they were all assuming she would be on the front lines.

And she would be – except – she couldn’t think what to do.

Lion-O drew the Sword of Omens from the Gauntlet. It growled, growing to its full length. “ThunderCats, _ho!”_

Conquedor opened fire.

..::~*~::..

She wasn’t ready! But, as it turned out, Conquedor had no concept of leading the target.

Delighted, Felline watched him fire round after round of something gelatinous and blue, continuously striking the ground behind Lion-O’s feet as the king took off running. Conquedor switched his sights to Tygra, with the same results.

Felline could outgun this creature! When shooting at a moving target, like there, when Tygra jumped into the air, the idea would be to aim ahead of it, so that the target and the round reached the same place at the same time – but Conquedor missed his window. Tygra coiled his whip around himself, and he disappeared.

The slaver mistakenly tried for Cheetara next, with ever more laughable failure. Lovely Cheetara blurred with her speed, leading the rounds on a merry chase. Two of the cannons in the rig shot at her as well, sending blobs that painted the ground chemical green, keeping her from getting too close. Watching her zigzag without making headway, Conquedor burst out laughing.

And choked.

In a sizzle of electricity, Tygra reappeared, holding the slaver in a headlock. As quiet as only a cat could be, he’d snuck up on their enemy while his attention was elsewhere.

Now was her chance. Felline had run back at the moment of the first shot, throwing herself to the ground behind a hillock. From there, she had both cover and the Conquedor in her sights. She took aim, finger on the trigger.

However, the cats weren’t familiar with Conquedor’s physiology. Far from being unable to breathe – he had no neck, she remembered too late – he extended a long, triple-jointed finger and pressed the device strapped to the opposite wrist.

Snapping, crackling, a field of energy surrounded his squat form. Tygra, grunting in pain, let go and fell out of sight. He did not reemerge.

“Tygra!” Lion-O shouted, sprinting toward his fallen brother.

Conquedor leveled the shoulder cannon at him, but Felline squeezed her trigger. One of the cannon’s four muzzles sparked, and then a second and third when she fired at them in quick succession. The shot meant for Lion-O unfortunately slammed into Panthro instead, sending the big cat to the ground in a sticky puddle of blue. Defying his strength, it glued him to the grass. He thrashed like an absurd tortoise on its back.

Conquedor ducked back into his hole, and Felline’s opportunity vanished. She hissed a curse.

The rig, which had not been idle while its master kept the ThunderCats busy, crashed into high gear and made its exit, scooping up two more berbils on the way, pink and sky blue. Felline fired at the arm, but her shots ricocheted, doing no damage.

“Bill!” she cried when something brown and furry went streaking by her.

“Bella. Beebo,” he said in his emotionless voice. He rolled up and chased after the rig. He bounced like a yo-yo, soaring higher each time, and unrolled to grab Bella’s outstretched paw. For an instant, he dangled there, but the claw’s operator gave it a violent shake, and Bill went flying. The last Felline saw of Bella, Beebo, and about twenty other berbils were their blank faces, pressed up against the bars of the cages that made up the bulk of the rig.

Then, in a cloud of dust, they were gone.

Silence reigned in Berbil Village. A few of their hosts revived Tygra, who sat up with a groan.

Felline, grabbing fistfuls of the blue goo covering Panthro, suppressed a gag. It had the consistency of lard but was as sticky as sap, and smelled like burned hair. She scooped it away as fast as she could until the general regained his feet, and then scrubbed her hands furiously in the grass.

“What a mess,” Kat said.

Many of the buildings were nothing more than scorched, smoking rubble, the smooth lawns ripped into clods of dirt, large puddles of the stinky goo catching unwary feet.

Cheetara hailed Lion-O, sounding close to panic. She ran up to them, cradling a berbil in her arms. “It’s Ro-Bear Bill,” she said. “He doesn’t look good.”

“No,” Lion-O whispered, anguished.

Bill did not respond. He lay absolutely still, his arms bent at awkward angles, part of his metal plating dented, his fur torn. His onyx eyes were dull and unseeing. Kit covered her mouth with her hands, and WilyKat buried his face in Felline’s middle.

Felline hugged the kitten while a crowd of berbils gently took Bill from Cheetara and carried him into the only building still standing – the large golden one that had first warned of the attack. Lion-O followed close on their heels. When none of the bears objected, Cheetara and Tygra went as well, then Panthro.

Felline pushed on WilyKit’s striped head, gave Kat’s a pat. “Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s go.”

WilyKat resisted, but Kit ran ahead, beating Panthro there.

“Is he dead?” Kat asked in a wobbly voice.

Felline could only shake her head. Cheetara had said the berbils weren’t alive, exactly, but they did have emotions that the cleric could sense. Could something that wasn’t alive actually die? And, could something that felt fear, love, and kindness be restored once it had been broken?

Inside, Bill lay on a round table, the same gold as the walls. There were no chairs, beds, or cushions anywhere; it was clear that nothing made of flesh lived here. Five berbils bent over their fallen friend, tools in their paws, and began to work.

“Can they fix him?” WilyKit asked in a tiny voice, her golden eyes big and shining with unshed tears. No one answered her.

The berbils worked feverishly, like a single, many-armed machine. They peeled back Bill’s fur and synthetic muscle, they propped open his ceramic armor to get at his insulated cabling. Felline watched as they plucked fried components from his body and discarded them in metal pans. She could name the liquid crystal lens, a ring joint, an epicyclic gear, a crankshaft. But the more the berbils pulled out, the higher her anxiety spiraled . . . an iridium plug, a needle valve, an analog circuit, an electrode . . . Surely, there would come the point when they had to start putting pieces back in, wouldn’t there? . . . an electrolytic capacitor, a flywheel, a sprocket, an actuator . . .

There came a pause in the clinks and crashes of components in the metal pans, and the berbils began to speak to each other.

Felline’s ears pricked forward. They weren’t using words! Their buzzing, emotionless voices made insectile beeps and clicks, so low-pitched she could only feel them, and then so high they squealed out of range.

They produced soldering irons, and sparks flew. More broken components were yanked out and discarded . . . a crystal oscillator, a piezoelectric element, a supercharger, a passive detector . . . Meanwhile, a separate tube steadily pumped silicone oil into Bill’s arm.

Yet, as the weird, buzzing voices went on, Felline discovered that she could understand them after all . . . a radial bearing, a solenoid, a Möbius coil, a tungsten tube . . . They were worried.

Panthro let out a raspy sigh. “I can’t take watching these amateurs,” he rumbled.

To Felline’s astonishment, he stomped forward. The berbils moved to make room for him. Even when he snapped, “Gimme that! You’re doing it all wrong,” they merely watched as he began soldering in Bill’s chest cavity. How could he possibly think he knew more than they did – working on one of their own – when he couldn’t even repair the ThunderTank –?

“Felline!” he barked, and she jumped. “What are you doing? Get over here.”

Involuntarily, she looked over at the others. Cheetara’s sunset colors were muted, Tygra’s black-banded face grim, and Lion-O, his blue eyes dark, nodded at her. Encouraging her to help. Believing in her, and in Panthro.

Timidly, she walked closer to the operating table. Not much that she’d seen was as horrible as Bill’s blank, lifeless face and the mass of components in the metal pans. Only one other thing had been this bad. She blinked. Lepra lay there, covered in her own blood.

Felline swallowed rising bile. She blinked again, and Lepra was Bill.

“Pass me that ferroelectric film, would you?” Panthro murmured. “You work on the amplifier.”

Obediently, Felline strapped her goggles into place and waited for the computer to come online. Then she set to work, bent so close over Bill that her head and Panthro’s were nearly touching. It was easier with the goggles on; she zoomed in, making her hands four times larger than life so that she wouldn’t have to see Bill’s dull, lightless eyes. They clipped, soldered, tightened screws, redirected circuits, swapped chips, reset pins, charged power cells. The berbils unobtrusively began passing over replacement components.

“Good idea,” one of them buzzed at Panthro. Felline raised her head to see what he was doing. They were nearly finished. “Now, reset function levels,” the berbil added.

“Oh, yeah, I see what you’re sayin’,” Panthro replied, one craftsman to another. A few at a time, indicator lights flashed green.

At last, the gyroscope that occupied the place a cat’s heart would be began to spin. Panthro stood up with a shaky breath while Felline finished attaching the synthetic muscle, ceramic armor, and the covering of fur. She pushed her goggles up, blinking to readjust her vision from their red light.

Cheetara, Kat, and Kit crept closer. Nothing happened.

Then, with a sound of gears, Bill lifted his legs. He swung them down, propelling himself into a sitting position. His onyx eyes glittered.

“All servos functional. Ro-Bear Bill lives,” he said. He sat and looked blandly at Panthro.

“He’s lookin’ good now,” Panthro said, a grin spreading across his broad face.

“Lookin’ good?” Bill repeated. He slid off the table, and the berbils all put their metal paws in the air.

“Yay,” they cheered, the way a cat might have said it while meaning the exact opposite.

“Cat save Bill,” Bill buzzed, throwing his furry arms around Panthro’s leg. “Thank you, cat. Cat ro-bear, too.”

“Ro-Cat Panthro,” the other berbils agreed. There was a stampede, and soon Panthro was staggering under the weight of six berbils at once. “Ro-Cat Panthro. Ro-Cat Panthro.”

“Ro-Cat Felline,” they added.

She knelt and hugged Bill fiercely. It was a lot like hugging a rock – the furry body didn’t yield at all, but the rock hugged her back.

“Ro-Cat Felline,” he buzzed.

“Ro-Cat Panthro. Ro-Cat Panthro.”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Panthro said awkwardly.

“Ro-Cat Panthro. Ro-Cat Panthro.”

The cats smiled, relief spreading around the room like spilled honey. Felline moved to a sink and sighed gratefully when water poured out of one faucet, and sweet-smelling soap streamed from another. She spent a minute or two scrubbing her hands clean and then got to work on her grass-stained elbows, her sweaty neck. The berbils had not finished mobbing Panthro. Perhaps it was cruel, but when she saw Lion-O leave the building, she abandoned Panthro to his fate and followed her king.

Lion-O stopped not far into the village, taking in the destruction.

“I wondered how they kept so busy,” Felline said. Her clothes were damp, but the sun was warm, so she paid them no mind. “Everything looked so perfect, but now, it’s this.”

“Yeah,” he said. Then he got a good look at her face. “Hey, are you all right?”

“What? Oh –” She wiped at her eyes, surprised at the tears clinging to her lashes. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

_I was a daughter. A sister. A country woman. A noble. A girlfriend. An alley cat. A dog. A ThunderCat. A fishman crew-mate. A petalar. A king’s friend. Now I’m a ro-bear berbil, too. I lost my family, my home, my voice. And then I found a new family and a new voice. How far will we have to go before we find a new home?_

It was a bit much to take, all at once like that. “Just a little tired,” Felline explained. “I’ll be all right in a while, thank you.”

Lion-O accepted that. They were friends again, standing amidst the rubble of Berbil Village. His mind was on the only thing that mattered to him more than his feelings for Cheetara: Failure. She could see it written plain in the furrowing of his brows, the troubled set of his mouth.

Ro-Bear Bill rolled up to them. He unfolded sitting on the grass, legs stuck straight out, paws planted between them. Lion-O crouched next to him.

“My Bella. My Beebo, taken. Ro-Bear Bill’s family,” he said, not looking at either cat.

“Do you know where the Conquedor has taken your family?” Lion-O asked.

Bill turned his head. “Conquedor sell berbils. Ro-Bear Bill knows.”

“Then you can take us there.”

Lion-O turned to call over his shoulder. “Panthro, you keep an eye on the village. Come on, Felline.”

He stood and strode to the village’s outskirts. Felline, following with Bill, Cheetara, and Tygra, glanced back as she heard hurried footsteps.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Panthro cried, leaning out of the golden building’s door clutching a wrench. “There’s no way you’re leavin’ me here with these things!”

They were already out of sight of the big general when he muttered, “Great.”

“Lion-O, wait,” Felline said, stopping.

The others stopped, too.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I think I should stay behind with Panthro and the twins,” she said.

“What, are you kidding?” He smiled at her. “We’re about to bust a slave ring. I need every available fighter with me.”

Felline looked up at her king. His face was open, more as he used to look in Swordtown than in recent weeks, and she almost gave in. He blurred in her vision and she, quite suddenly, didn’t seem to have legs anymore.

“Put your head between your knees,” Cheetara gently said in her ear, helping to lower her to the ground. Bemused, Felline marveled that Cheetara had gotten to her so fast, forgetting for a moment what her friend was. “Take slow, even breaths. It’ll help.”

It did help, a little. The slow, even breaths, however, were turning into jaw-cracking yawns. Aside from her short nap, Felline hadn’t slept in over two days. There’d been much to stay awake for, not the least being the surgery on Bill. Now that it was over, she was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

“She’s exhausted, Lion-O,” Cheetara said. A hand, gentle as her sister’s, slid across her forehead as if checking for a fever.

Felline looked up, and then wished she hadn’t. The tender look on Lion-O’s face, the warmth and the approval, were all for Cheetara. Tygra was watching the cleric much the same way.

“All right,” Lion-O said. “It’s just us three, then.”

Felline’s tail flicked, tapping irritably on the grass. He didn’t have to sound so gleeful about it.

“Here, let me help you,” Cheetara said when Felline pushed her hands away and stood up.

“I got it,” Felline said, but then she smiled up at her. It wasn’t Cheetara’s fault that Lion-O was acting like – well, like that. “Thank you.”

Cheetara smiled right back. _She knows,_ Felline realized, amazed. Cheetara knew what was going on, was aware of Lion-O being so kingly behind her, waiting for her to notice. Discreetly, she squeezed Felline’s hand. “Get some rest. We’ll be back soon.”

Felline squeezed right back. “Good luck,” she said, careful to catch the eyes of both Tygra and Lion-O as well.

She meant it, too. She knew all about wanting someone’s attention and affection, and not wanting them. She and her sister had always been polar opposites that way.

“Make sure Panthro gets some rest, too, will you?” Tygra asked her. “You two had a long night.”

“Sure,” she agreed, pleased. In quiet moments like these, even cynical Prince Tygra was her friend. It hadn’t been easy for him to accept her, since she was so close in age to his younger brother and had been, in the beginning, a freeloader. A liability. A weak point. But she’d proven her worth many times over – not as a soldier, but as a mechanic, a sharpshooter, and, sometimes, his brother’s keeper.

She watched Lion-O, Tygra, and Cheetara leave the village with Bill in the lead.

An enormous sorrow settled over her head. No one knew if any other cats had survived, or if they seven were all that was left of their species. Lion-O’s feelings for Cheetara weren’t going to go away. Nor were Tygra’s.

Nor were hers, if she was completely honest with herself. If Lion-O had seen anything about her that attracted him that way, he would have shown it long before now. Which meant that she was simply not attractive. Not to him, not to anyone. Not anymore. Nothing she did or said was going to change his mind.

She chuckled to herself. Lion-O was younger than she was by about a year and a half. His birth had been such a big event, because the queen had finally borne a child, a son, for Thundera, something that even she had believed impossible, or so it was rumored.

He wasn’t just some boy. He had never been just some boy.

It was best to put her feelings aside. They all had to if they were going to gain the Power Stones before Mumm-Ra. _Focus on the here and now,_ Felline scolded herself. Like Panthro was doing, busily repairing things a long line of berbils had formed to hand him. Even WilyKit helped, her little hands working a vast wrench. Felline composed her face and entered the building to give the general the prince’s orders.

However, she couldn’t undo the knot of sadness and regret in her chest. She wasn’t tall, she wasn’t older, she wasn’t mysterious and alluring and all those things that Lepra had been, and that Cheetara was. She was only a snow leopard, not worth looking at twice.

..::~*~::..

The smell, insidious and faint, was what first alerted her.

Berbil Village exuded myriad scents, from the fuel distilled out of sweet, sugary candyfruit juice to the silicone oil that lubricated the machinery. Felline, refreshed after a catnap, walked into the sunshine, stretched, and then frowned. She smelled something peculiar, something that didn’t belong.

She followed her nose. Through the candyfruit orchards, where Kit and Kat had taken up residence, steadily eating their way from tree to tree. Past the main building, where a relaxed Panthro enjoyed a massage by tiny berbil paws. Around the forge, where Ro-Bear Bob, with her permission, had taken her rifle while she slept. Into the part of the village not yet returned to its perfect, shining state.

Something round shone in a mound of rubble. Felline ducked under noisy construction equipment and crawled over to the shiny thing on all fours, her movements followed by curious berbil gazes.

The stink was definitely coming from it. Felline tucked her ears back. It smelled like unburned fire. Cautiously, she reached out a finger and poked it.

Eight jointed legs clacked together as it rolled over, a ball of steel and brass. When it didn’t do anything else, her ears shot forward.

It was some kind of incendiary device. What Felline smelled was gunpowder. For whatever reason, this one hadn’t exploded. She picked it up and examined it.

There was a timer attached to it, its faceplate cracked. Felline weighed the thing in her hand, feeling the arachnid-legs claw at her wrist. She looked around at the destruction, her nose full of the metallic, unburned stench. One good throw of the bomb and it would latch on to anything it could reach like a giant tick before the detonator counted down to zero, ensuring maximum destruction. An ingenious device, really. It was giving her ideas.

Still thinking, Felline wandered back toward the main building with the bomb.

A fine-tuned purr caught her attention at the same time it must have gotten Panthro’s. He came charging outside. The ThunderTank purred right up to the door, several berbils perched atop it.

“Panthro help berbils,” one of them said while Panthro, like a much younger cat, leaped onto the tank. “Berbils help Panthro.”

“You put in a new engine,” he said wonderingly.

When he chuckled in delight, Felline couldn’t help smiling. She clambered up to see for herself.

“But where did you get the parts?” Panthro wanted to know.

The bear the same overcast gray as the big cat held out one furry arm, indicating the shining, pristine engine. “Berbils make parts,” he explained.

Panthro’s gruff, scarred face softened. “You mean my hunk of junk is no longer a hunk of junk?” he asked. His mismatched eyes teared up. He reached over, grabbed Felline, and started bawling into her shoulder.

Felline did her best not to laugh, and instead braced her feet. Even crouched on his heels, he was a lot of cat to support. Meanwhile, the berbils exchanged blank looks.

“Panthro eyes rain,” one of them deduced.

“It happens,” Felline agreed.

With a huge sniffle, Panthro scrubbed his arm across his eyes and pushed away from Felline, not looking at her.

“Hey, Panthro,” she said while he scooted forward to inspect the new engine, “when they come back, Conquedor will be right behind them, won’t he?”

When. Not if.

Panthro nodded. “With backup, most like.” He sounded stuffed up.

“We can’t stop a frontal assault, can we?”

At the shake of his head, she lightly chewed her bottom lip, thinking harder than ever. She proffered the bomb. “What do you make of this?”

“Where did you get that?” Now he looked at her, his thick eyebrows raised.

“Found it over there,” she said vaguely, still thinking.

“Hey.” A slow smile spread across Panthro’s square face as he turned the leggy brass ball over in his large hands. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

She nodded. “I think so. Stay here.”

“Wha – Where are you going?”

She jumped off the tank, running for the orchards. “I’m going to get WilyKat and Kit!”

If there was anyone who understood stealth and trickery, it would be a pair of career pickpockets.

“Kit!” Felline yelled once she was among the striped pink trees. “Kat! I’ve got a question for you!”

“Fire away,” WilyKit said, dropping right behind Felline, which made her jump.

“Where’s Kat?” she asked.

“Right here.” WilyKat hung upside-down, his knees hooked around a branch. Both kittens clutched half-eaten candyfruit.

“Oh, good. Now, listen.” Felline sat on the ground, curling her legs under her. “Say we’re back in Thundera. If the guards were after you, how would you keep them from finding your safe house? And then keep them out of it?”

WilyKit’s short, upswept eyebrows contracted, and she propped her fists on her hips.

“Well, that depends,” Kat said seriously. He dropped down and stood with his sister. “Do they outnumber us?”

“Yes,” Felline answered.

“Are they bigger than us?” Kit asked.

“Most definitely.”

The twins grinned at each other. “Then it’s simple. Classic misdirection,” Kat said. He put his finger in the air.

Kit put hers up, also. “Your safe house should always have more than one entrance –” she said.

“– because then there’s always more than one exit,” Kat finished.

“See, it works like this.” WilyKit knelt and began to draw in the dirt with a claw.

“You can slip in one way and out another to get behind your pursuers,” WilyKat said. He started pacing, wagging his finger. “You want to do everything you can to confuse them. Trapdoors, tripwires, falling objects, prey that goes in two directions at once –”

“It’s important to use what you have lying around,” Kit interjected from the ground. “Less chance of anyone seeing the traps until it’s too late –”

“– since you don’t want them to be able to retreat and regroup,” Kat went on. “Good thinking, Sis. As long as you don’t let them get too close, like so . . .”

Felline wrapped her arms around her legs and watched as the masters set to work.

..::~*~::..

“All done,” Ro-Bear Bob announced.

“Excellent,” Felline breathed. Excitedly, she rolled up a handful of the blueprints, hiding their white secrets inside. She jogged into the heat of late afternoon. “Panthro!”

“Good timing!” he called back, waving her over. He and his own group of berbils had amassed quite a stockpile of raw materials, which Panthro didn’t mention; he pointed toward the cliffs. “They’re back.”

A smile spread across her face. With Snarf and the kittens, she ran down the hill to meet the rescue party, clutching her bundle of blueprints. The berbils rolled around her like a furry river. Ro-Bear Bill led the homecoming, Bella and Beebo at his sides. A triumphantly-smiling Lion-O marched along in his wake, flanked by the taller but no less satisfied Tygra and Cheetara.

“We can’t celebrate just yet,” Lion-O said after a moment of gleeful welcoming in the berbil’s curious, wordless speech, his smile evaporating. “The Conquedor is coming back.”

“And this time, he’s bringing friends,” Cheetara added anxiously.

WilyKit, WilyKat, Panthro, and Felline never lost their smiles. Panthro stood taller than anybody, broad as a battlement and twice as imposing. “We have some friends of our own,” he said, spreading his muscled arms.

With the sound of gears, the assembled berbils turned their heads toward Lion-O in perfect unison.

Tygra frowned. “Except they don’t know how to fight,” he pointed out.

Panthro’s grin, if possible, broadened, showing off his blunt fangs. “But they do know how to build.” He cast a proud, dark eye at the berbils. “You guys ready to save your village?”

The diminutive Bill marched up to Panthro and saluted him.

Lion-O stared at him with his mouth slightly open. He exchanged a glance with Cheetara. They broke into bemused smiles while, still grinning, the grizzly general saluted him back.

..::~*~::..

They started with blowtorches, cutting through the wreckage left from the bombs. Felline tired quickly, trying to wrestle the heavy hoses around, but Lion-O worked with ease, as did the berbils, lifting sections of wall with the hiss of their actuators. The acetylene burned hot and clean, filling the building with uncomfortable heat.

Lion-O paused and glanced over at her when she suddenly threw down her torch with a clatter and fanned her sweaty neck.

“Troubles?” he teased.

“Just be glad lions are made for the heat,” she groaned. “All this fur is awful!”

He laughed and went back to cutting, a mask protecting his face. Felline eyed him over her shoulder.

Totally unconscious of the effect this might have on her, he’d removed most of his armor and the clothes under it. He stood atop a rounded chunk of metal, feet braced, wearing only his loose, royal blue trousers, as he cut a precise section of salvageable material free. The blue-and-orange flame highlighted his fur, honey-gold across most of his upper body but a pale cream along his chest, belly, and hands. She could smell him, the heady scent of the plains in high summer. A lion’s smell. One of strength and power. In a daze of heat, Felline watched the play of muscle across his back and shoulders, the sheen of sweat making tracks through his fur.

A spark landed on her foot, bringing her back to reality with a pinch.

Feeling stupid, she shook her head to clear it, and then inspected her foot for damage. He was not a thing to gawk at! The sooner they finished this job, the sooner they could trade the torches for cooler chores. She flicked down her goggles and got back to work with more concentration than the job perhaps required.

When they had gathered as much usable material as they could, she began bolting together preformed pieces with noisy shots of a power drill. Lion-O, however, became the head of an impromptu war council, periodically stopping his work to listen to the reports of Cheetara and Tygra, who were running the perimeter on his orders.

“All clear,” were their words, time and again. They never stayed long, but ducked out of the flurry of activity inside the workshop as quickly as possible. This left Felline and Panthro to explain to Lion-O what they were trying to accomplish.

“Divide and conquer,” Panthro rumbled, testing the hinges of a grappler. A very special kind of grappler. Ro-Bear Bill had been able to tell them exactly what was coming.

“We only need to slow him down,” Felline said. She accepted another bolt that Ro-Bear Bethany handed to her. Using both hands and her shoulder, she zipped up a seam with quick _buzz, pop!_ s of the drill. Dusting off her knees, she handed the drill to Bethany and added, “Draw him off. We’ll do it in waves.”

To illustrate, she collected some of the blueprints and bent over a workbench to spread them out. She pointed at a map of Berbil Village provided by Ro-Bear Brandon. “WilyKat and Kit will be here, and berbil groups two through six from here to here with their artillery.”

Several berbils appeared with the kittens to fill the hoppers of their modified fruit-pluckers with candyfruit. Felline went on to describe Panthro’s role in the ambush, and Tygra’s, and Cheetara’s. Lion-O rested his hands on the bench, leaning over the map while she spoke, a model student.

“And where will I be?”

“Frontlines.” Felline glanced at him through her lashes. He was still shirtless, his blue eyes focused with burning intensity. “We need you where everyone can see you for this to work.”

“Bait,” he said with relish.

She grinned. “Partly. I’ll be here, as mop up –”

“No,” Lion-O interrupted, shaking his red head decisively. “I want you with me.”

“Why?” Felline straightened, searching his soot-smeared face.

“We’re going to need some coordination during the fight,” he said. “This is all yours, isn’t it?”

“I – no. Kit and Kat came up with the traps, and the berbils drew up the prints. And it was Panthro who placed everyone –”

“But it was your idea to start,” Panthro butted in, his mouth sagging at the corners. He handed the grappler to Brandon, who carefully inserted it into a small cannon mouth. “It takes a level head to put something like this together, to know where to use each and every soldier at your disposal. That’s got nuthin’ to do with me.”

“That’s why I should be here,” she said, pointing at the map. She was a sniper, a fallback. Besides, Ro-Bear Bob had done something incredible to her junkyard rifle. It gleamed silver like a polished mirror and could shoot twice as far as before. It was also half as heavy, easier for her to wield. She loved it and couldn’t wait to give it a try.

“What if something goes wrong? We have to be able to alter the plan on the fly. That’ll be your job. You’re with me.” Lion-O clapped her on the shoulder and then moved to help assemble another machine. The berbils made way for him, buzzing and beeping.

“But –” she protested.

Panthro pushed away from the workbench, beckoning her to follow him. She broke off, bewildered at this turn of events.

“Lion-O’s right,” he said when they were alone, a wicked gleam in his good eye. “We’ll need to keep in touch with Central Command. That’s you. And I’ve got just the thing.”

..::~*~::..

The night was clear. The rain, a distant memory. Sweet-scented wind blew through the rifts of rock, bringing the sounds of the approaching invaders. Cheetara stood tall on the outermost bower, the wind combing through her moonlit hair. Felline stood with her amid a cloud of pink petals, watching the small army come into focus.

Giantors. Trollogs. Ro-Bear Bethany had told her about them. “Bad ones,” she called them. Both species came from the cave-riddled mountains. They were crude, barbaric, feuding people who relied on the skill of the berbils to obtain any technology at all. Since the canyon walls offered only one way into the village, they marched slowly, the giantors shortening their massive strides to match the trotting trollogs. Behind them all, Conquedor’s rig threw up a dust cloud big enough to swallow half the village.

“Let’s go.”

Lion-O led the way down. Once on the ground, the berbils dispersed. Lion-O, Tygra, Felline, Cheetara, and the kittens stood in a line, blocking the entrance to the village.

With stinking skins wrapped around their hips secured with bone fragments and sinew, the large-chinned, slope-foreheaded, tiny-eyed giantors did not hesitate. Their bare, warty feet pounded the grass with each step, and they swung clubs taller than Panthro. Conquedor had shown some intelligence in sending them ahead and keeping the smaller trollogs in reserve.

Lion-O thrust his hand into the Gauntlet, drawing the Sword. He was in his element now. “Thunder,” he said, his voice a growl.

The Sword grew.

“Thunder,” he said, louder.

And grew.

“Thunder!”

The Eye awakened, painting the night crimson.

_“ThunderCats, ho!”_

Up the beacon shot, the black cat’s head roaring against the stars.

That was the signal. Felline shivered, though the night was warm, as the eerie sound caressed her bones. She lowered her goggles over her eyes, waiting for the familiar whine as they powered up, and then spoke into her new headset, courtesy of Panthro. Several berbils also wore them, and all were connected to the radio in the ThunderTank.

As if angered by the sight of the beacon, the giantors and trollogs broke formation and leaned into ground-eating runs, releasing wordless battle cries. Along their flanks, salvos from the berbil’s EMP grapplers smacked into the unprotected rig, short-circuiting it for a few precious seconds. It coughed to a wheezing halt.

Panthro and Bill were already on the way. Listening to the chatter on the line, Felline murmured into her microphone. In the distance, the rig started up again, but Conquedor had been diverted as planned. Spiky wheels bit into rock, turning the gargantuan vehicle around to meet the ThunderTank’s rear charge.

Through the goggles, Felline could see when WilyKat and WilyKit opened fire with the candyfruit cannons. Round after round of hard, ball-shaped fruit exploded against a giantor’s unwashed head. He swung through the hail of fruit with his club, grinding sparse, brick-like teeth in fury.

This was the part Felline had been dreading, but it was necessary. Their small bodies completely saturated with candyfruit sugar, the twins took on the enraged giantor, taunting, laughing, dodging, spinning, leaping, blurring like miniature clerics. They led the confused creature right over a tripwire, sending the brute headfirst into a pile of timber. Its tantrum could be heard clear across the village, as could the twins’ laughter.

Even Snarf had a part to play. In a low voice, Felline reported when the petcat picked out his victim. He sank his tiny fangs into the ample hindquarters of a trollog. Snarf led the canine-like creature, bedecked with skulls and teeth, over to the foundations of one of the razed buildings, right into the line of fire from two berbils manning a juice gun. Vivid green sap from the candyfruit trees coated the trollog’s dim-witted, pit-bull face, sending him slipping and sliding and blinded into the ruined basement.

Watching, Tygra whistled, impressed. More “bad ones” fell to the kittens and the berbils. Panthro’s voice crackled in Felline’s ear; he and Bill were on an intercept course with Conquedor, who was trying to find another way into the village.

It was time. Felline nodded at Cheetara. Cheetara nodded back. The cleric crouched, her front leg bent and back leg straight out behind her. She shot off like a yellow laser. Felline nodded at Tygra, who vanished with a sizzle.

Finally, Felline nodded at Lion-O. The others would take care of the rest of the trollogs and giantors. Panthro would delay Conquedor, but, in the end, this was Lion-O’s fight.

Lion-O and Felline skirted the village, taking to the cliff above to catch up with Conquedor’s rig. It roared by in the canyon below, followed closely by the smaller ThunderTank. Although the night turned velvety blue once they left the glow from the village behind, Felline no longer needed her goggles to see Panthro and Bill drive the tank into Conquedor’s rig. Rear lights blazing, the tank circled in front of the bigger vehicle. The rig immediately plowed into the tank so hard it heaved the tank up on its side with a sickening crunch.

Lion-O leaped for the drop, sliding down in a billow of scree, Felline on his heels. Conquedor wasn’t satisfied with stopping the tipped tank. He threw his rig into reverse, crashed it forward, and shoved the tank closer to the lower cliff with deafening shrieks of metal on metal. He did it again, and again. Felline could see now that the tank’s top had been ripped away, exposing her friends to the night.

“Hang tight, little buddy!” Panthro cried in Felline’s ear, his voice breaking up with each bash of the cowcatcher that sent the tank whirling in dizzying circles.

“Make spin stop, please,” Bill emotionlessly replied.

Somehow, Panthro did. Lion-O and Felline reached the canyon floor and raced toward the two vehicles as the ThunderTank dug in its claws and treads and screeched to a halt on the lip of the cliff. It sat there, silver in the moonlight, slight in the rig’s shadow.

Conquedor opened fire.

The answering growl of the tank’s new engine filled the ravine with pulsing sound waves. It started forward when Conquedor’s rig did, putting them on a collision course.

Lion-O and Felline sprinted flat out across the rocky, uneven ground.

Then, with a roar to put any lion to shame, the two front claws of the ThunderTank separated and shot forward with the force of cannonballs. They connected with the rig and sent it flying off its trajectory. The enormous vehicle sailed high into the air –

“Look out!” Lion-O yelled. His arms slammed into Felline, one banging her chin so hard she saw a whole galaxy of stars pop into existence and the other constricting around her middle so that all the breath left her with a painful _oof._ The ground rose up to meet her, slamming their bodies together.

– and came down with crushing force, upside-down, its front guns mangled beyond all recognition.

Cursing, Lion-O rolled with Felline. They skidded to a stop off to the side of the destroyed vehicle instead of under it. Then he lay limp, breathing too hard to speak.

At first, the only things that still seemed to be working were her ears. Felline heard the ThunderTank roll to a stop nearby. Crackles and the soft patter of rain filled the night, but when her vision cleared, she realized it was only the dust and dirt kicked up by the battling machines coming to rest.

“That was too close. Are you all right?” Lion-O asked at last.

“Yeah, I think so,” she said shakily. She stood up when Lion-O did, still caged by his arms. She covered her bleeding shoulder with a hand, the stinging on her jaw and one knee alerting her that she’d gotten scratched up pretty badly. It seemed petty to point this out to him when he’d done it to save her life, so she left it at, “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He rubbed a spot on his head.

With the squeak of metal no longer sitting right in its hinges, the rig’s porthole opened and admitted a decidedly woozy Conquedor into the night. He pulled himself halfway out, groaned, dropped his bayonet, and tumbled headfirst to the ground.

Instantly, Lion-O jumped on top of the downed rig. Dust clouds obscured the stars behind him. He swung the Sword through the air with a flourish and then pointed it at their enemy. “I should have warned you,” he called. “Panthro doesn’t like people messing with his tank.”

“What do I care?” Conquedor retorted. He reclined in the dirt, his guttural voice echoing around the canyon.

Engines idling, Panthro drove up. He beckoned Felline aboard. She hurried to comply, leaping in to slide next to Ro-Bear Bill. The berbil hugged Panthro’s muscled arm with all four limbs. He turned his head back-to-front so that his onyx eyes glittered at her.

Outside, Conquedor was still blustering. “I’ll just force these worthless robots to build me another, and I’ll demolish any that don’t listen!”

At that, he raised his whining rifle and pulled the trigger.

A yellow bolt passed within inches of Lion-O’s left cheek. Lion-O gasped as it wobbled into the night behind him. Conquedor may have been a rotten shot, but that one had nearly taken Lion-O’s head off. Angrily, he snarled, “You still don’t understand.”

He leaped down. “These bears –” he shouted, swinging with all his might. Sword and bayonet clashed, and he growled, “Are not –”

He swung again, beating Conquedor back through sheer brute strength, closer to the edge of the cliff. “Your _property!”_

With the last strike, the Sword sliced through the rifle and the bayonet, sending Conquedor reeling to the ground in a cloud of dust. The Sword of Omens rang in the king’s grasp, singing out its victory. When Felline nudged him, Panthro inched the tank to the edge of the cliff so that its red headlights blazed in the night like cracks in the Earth’s crust leading to the flames of Magmel.

Seeing the red light, the last of the giantors and trollogs let out echoing wails of fear. They turned and fled, Conquedor hot on their heels, the cheers of the berbils and kittens speeding them on their way.

..::~*~::..

She hadn’t gotten to test her upgraded rifle after all.

The ThunderCats had worked together like a dream, a seamless team, with her voice at its nexus. Lion-O, young and strong, had won the battle on his own merit alone. She laid her hand on the rifle’s stock, snug in its holster. It seemed doubtful she would ever need to use it, not if the others came together like they had last night. She could think of worse things to happen.

The next day dawned clear and sunny. The berbils got to work early, fabricating, manufacturing, salvaging, disposing, and erecting. Smiling, Felline passed through the village one last time. The berbils, she knew, would finish repairing their homes and landscaping within a matter of hours. Then, without the constant threat of Conquedor and his fellow slavers tearing down what they had created, they would turn their tireless efforts to fortifying the village. They would expand on what the cats had shown them, coming up with newer, more efficient traps and deterrents, for years to come.

No one would ever bother them again.

Her smile faded. She felt like a cloud, the only white creature in a village of vibrant color and subject to the wind’s capricious whims. Berbil Village was a place of peace, a haven of generosity, love, and acceptance.

She didn’t want to leave.

Panthro burst out laughing, sounding like thunder booming through the hills. Felline sighed wistfully. It looked like the big cat had finished repairing the tank. Her time was up.

As she moved to join him, however, three berbils rolled over to her and stood up. Bethany, Brandon, and Bob.

She knelt. “Time to go,” she said, smiling.

Green-furred Bethany opened her arms for a hug, which Felline gratefully gave her. “Goodbye,” Bethany buzzed.

“Come back soon,” Bob said. “Ro-Cat Felline.”

Felline wiped away a suspicious wetness in her eyes. It was funny how sad she could feel when the berbils looked as emotionless as ever.

“Felline!” Cheetara called, waving to her. “We’re going!”

“Coming!” she yelled, and then hugged Bob and Brandon. “Stay safe.”

Then she ran off, the sun gleaming off her rifle and the ThunderTank, and joined her friends. As Panthro drove away, heading further into the canyons, Felline sat in one of the hatches. With the wind blowing her hair into her face, she watched Berbil Village shrink to a pink smudge on the horizon, and then vanish behind high sandstone cliffs.

..::~*~::..

They traveled for several days, following the blinking red beacon above the center console. Although the Book of Omens was working beautifully as a Power Stone locator, the fact that they were back on track did nothing to dim the competition between the royal brothers. If anything, their rivalry worsened.

Maybe that was why Lion-O could no longer master Sight Beyond Sight.

The Book, which projected a hologram of a spinning, red, wireframe globe, led them to another village, this one on a massive scale. The steps leading up to it were taller than the kittens. The settlement itself was in a state of gentle disrepair, beautiful stonework walls, colonnades, and walkways sinking under the weight of trees and meadow grasses. The size of the structures was nothing compared to the village’s inhabitants, one of which made burly Panthro look like a cub. The prayer beads they wore over their shoulders like bandoliers were bigger around than a cat’s head.

The elephants, who spoke slowly and forgot things as quickly as a drop of water falling into a pond, knew that they had once possessed the Spirit Stone, but did not know if they did any longer, nor where it might be kept. With the simple friendliness of the very young, they invited the ThunderCats to search their village to their heart’s content. Except one.

Anet, the leader of the elephants, held Lion-O back and told him that he was looking with the wrong eyes, but no matter how many times the king tried, Sight Beyond Sight only showed him the Stone, not where to find it.

The elephants fascinated WilyKit. She followed Anet’s assistant Aburn around as if he had catnip in the folds of his orange robe, joining him for hours of meditation, playing music with him, she on her flupe, he through his trunk and the stamping of his giant feet. Not that Felline liked their noise much. Once, they and a bunch of other elephants hit a note that could shatter rock, achieving what Aburn called “perfect harmony.”

And that was precisely what Lion-O did not have.

“You see, Lion-O,” Anet said in his soft, lilting accent that stressed sharp consonants, “when you fail to look at the bigger picture, it becomes impossible to know the consequences of your actions.”

“I guess it’s no wonder why I’m struggling with Sight Beyond Sight,” Lion-O said dully.

“Let’s try it one more time,” Anet urged.

They all knew it had worked when Lion-O breathed, “The hut.” And then he shouted, “The Stone is in the hut!”

There was only one hut in the village, a comparatively tiny stone outcrop that housed nothing but a gargantuan broom and some stubborn vines. They’d already searched it, but Lion-O raced to it, sure the Stone would be there this time. He pulled open the heavy door.

Felline waited outside with Tygra and the others. When Lion-O emerged empty-handed, Snarf gave an anxious, “Nnyaa.”

Frowning, Lion-O walked up to Anet, his head bowed. “I don’t understand,” he said, struggling to keep his frustration in check.

“Perhaps a different approach is in order,” Anet said, smiling beneath his trunk. His fingers, tipped with blunt, dark gray nails, were lax on his staff, untroubled. The smile crinkled his saggy yellow eyes. “Go to the Forest of Magi Oar, one of the most enchanted places on all of Third Earth. There, the power of the Sword will be amplified, and your connection with it.”

“Where is this forest?” Lion-O asked.

However, it was there that Anet’s memory failed him.


	10. Chapter Ten

"Sword of Omens,” Lion-O called, his voice echoing around the gray trees and barren ground, “give me Sight Beyond Sight!”

It was Felline’s turn to sleep outside. Cheetara and the kittens wrestled with the yellow canvas that served them for a tent, while Felline constructed a fire circle around a pile of dry evergreen needles, setting things out for the evening meal. What sky she could see through the ancient trees was the dark greenish-blue of twilight. She looked up when Lion-O walked into camp, shoulders slumped.

Tygra closed a panel on the tank, tucking three bedrolls under his arm. “Anything?” he asked his brother.

“I don’t understand why the elephants sent us here,” Lion-O said, unhappiness dragging down his eyebrows. “The Book says the Stone is in their village. The Sword does, too.”

“Maybe you’re not seeing the forest for the trees, Lion-O,” Cheetara said. In the fading light, her beautiful face was very pale, making her look like the soul of a queen who had died too young. “We might not be able to see why yet, but coming here might be the key to locating the Stone there.”

“She’s right,” Tygra put in, unusually subdued. “You don’t have to be a cleric to feel the forest’s magic.”

Warily, the four cats looked up at the tall, silent trees. Felline could hear WilyKat and Kit giggling, supremely unconcerned with the forest’s exhalations, but she shivered. Though the elephants had not been able to help them find the forest, Panthro thought he and Grune might have run across its boundaries in their travels, and the cats had headed in the direction he’d indicated.

Ever since they’d left the flatlands behind, all of Felline’s thoughts had turned morbid, dark, and strange, as if they’d been poisoned by the atmosphere. She was no cleric, but even she understood that something was very, very wrong here. For one thing, there were no animals or insects, and yet she could feel eyes in the dark. Eyes on her.

She didn’t know where the thought came from, but she couldn’t shake it. Maybe the cats were what was wrong, bringing their color and their noise where it wasn’t wanted.

Frowning, Cheetara approached a tree, laying her hand flat on its trunk. “There’s something else here, too,” she murmured. “A cheerless and gloomy presence. It’s like the forest is inhabited by –”

_“Ghosts?”_ the twins chorused in a kind of thrilled ecstasy. They yanked down the canvas tent and draped it over themselves, waving their arms underneath it and wailing.

“Spirits,” Cheetara finished in mild irritation, but the kittens, still making ghostly sounds under the gourd-yellow canvas, stumbled into each other, cracked heads, and burst out laughing.

“Ghosts. Spirits. Souls,” Panthro said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. A bead of sweat gathered in the fur of his temple. “I don’t care what you call them, they all give me the willies.”

WilyKit and Kat weren’t listening. Howling more like a pair of banshees than the souls of the dearly departed, they advanced on Snarf, following the sound of his frightened cries.

She couldn’t take it. Felline threw down a rock into the dry dirt and stood up. “Kit. Kat. Stop it. That’s enough.”

If anything, their howls got louder. Panthro stood up.

“You two!”

“Huh?” Their heads appeared. Wide golden eyes turned to Panthro, the canvas folding around their shoulders.

“Go get some firewood,” he said. He put his fists on his hips with a quick sidelong glance at Felline, and then he shifted, standing between her and them.

“Why do _we_ have to?” WilyKat demanded.

Panthro didn’t even blink. He stuck a large claw in Kat’s face, and then in Kit’s. “ ‘Cause you’re smaller than me, you’re younger than me, and you’re not much good for anything else.”

“Oh, _fi-i-i-ine,”_ WilyKit groaned. Angrily, she flung the tent to the ground and stormed off with her nose and her tail in the air. Kat copied her, openly insulted.

Felline felt kind of bad. Nobody liked being bullied by Panthro, even if he was doing it for her sake.

Then Kit turned around, a wicked grin splitting her mouth so wide that all of her teeth glinted.

“Come on, Snarf,” she said as if making a point of leaving everybody else out. “Maybe we’ll see a ghost. Woo-oo!”

At that, Felline went back to work on the fire, coaxing a spark to life in the grayish needles, her mind at ease on one point, at least.

The evening passed uneventfully. The first moon rose, sailing so high in the sky that it shone like a small, white pearl sewn on black velvet. It would be hours before Leo, the largest moon, showed his face, but Panthera appeared as a silver sliver on the horizon.

After a late dinner, Cheetara stood, dusting off her hands. “I’m going to turn in,” she said.

“Me, too.” Felline, more bored than tired, buried her stick and fish bones and then turned to the kittens. “Come on, kitties, bedtime.”

“Aw,” they whined, but they did come, choosing to cuddle up with Snarf on the far side of the tent, where the firelight did not reach.

Felline and Cheetara spread out their sleeping rolls under the yellow tent, having done it so many times before that, without thinking about it, neither one crossed the invisible dividing line down the middle. As usual, Cheetara curled up on the left, Felline on the right. The cleric fell asleep quickly, lips parted with her breathing. Felline lay awake for what felt like hours, watching the Cheshire moon. Thinking. Missing her family.

She wasn’t the only one. Tygra and Lion-O had taken the first watch, sitting on opposite sides of their small fire, staring into its flickering depths. After a while, assuming everyone was asleep, they began to talk in low voices.

“He sounds like the ThunderTank,” were Tygra’s first sardonic words.

Glancing over at the sleeping Panthro, Lion-O chuckled. “Father used to snore like that, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Tygra asked in a light voice that didn’t match the seriousness – the almost maliciousness – of his expression. “It’s the one thing you inherited from him.”

Instead of defending himself, Lion-O bluntly asked, “Still don’t think I should be king, do you?”

“Does it matter what I think? The Sword picked you.”

“Maybe it chose wrong,” Lion-O groaned quietly. “No matter how hard I try I can’t seem to master Sight Beyond Sight.”

“You just have to believe in yourself.” The firelight swam over Tygra’s face as he turned it toward the tent and Cheetara, who was bathed in the same warmth and light. “She seems to.”

Lion-O looked also. Felline knew that he wouldn’t see her in Cheetara’s blanket-shrouded shadow. Lion-O turned back to his brother. “You know we’re going to have to settle this eventually. May the best cat win.”

If Tygra answered, Felline didn’t hear it. She lay in the cold moonlight, wondering at herself. Why should it hurt so much to hear Lion-O say something like that? She knew he was in love with Cheetara. She’d known it for ages, as long as she’d known him.

Yet it did hurt, a sharp pain in her chest that brought tears to her eyes. To watch them fight over Cheetara, as if Cheetara was the only woman in existence, hurt. Not because Felline wanted anybody fighting over her, but because nothing had changed. Why, she wondered, struggling to hold in a sniffle that would give her away, why didn’t anybody ever like her? Was she ugly? Stupid? Did she smell bad? _Why?_

Someone had preferred Felline, once. She studied the blemishes on Cheshire’s white face, tried to make herself see a pair of pale gray eyes in the various crater pairings, but she couldn’t.

For Felline, the world existed in black and white. What she had, and what she did not have. Was Lion-O a replacement for the boy she’d lost?

Lion-O . . .

_What about him?_ she asked herself savagely. Yes, he was handsome. Charismatic. The only boy left close to her in age. What if that was all there was to her attraction? She was jealous, but maybe that only meant she was needier than most. If that was the case, then it wasn’t fair of her to force herself on him.

Well, so what?

Sick of these questions, Felline inched toward the back of the tent, careful not to wake her friend. She made it clear of her bedroll and crawled away, into the night-dark forest, where she could breathe freely and stretch her legs. She left the firelight behind, walking downhill until the towering evergreens surrounded her, their bare trunks limned by the light of the moons. It was empty under their skeletal boughs, the bare, gray dirt cold and hard against her feet.

The solitude didn’t soothe her. Rather, Felline’s anxiety ratcheted up a notch. Was it getting colder? With each step, the temperature seemed to drop. Tail twitching, she looked around. Hugged herself. Tried not to let the pounding of her heart run away with her common sense. There was something nearby, hiding behind the trees, watching. Waiting.

No, it was the twins’ talk of ghosts freaking her out, she told herself firmly. No need to panic.

From the direction of the camp, a muffled sort of explosion turned the forest briefly blue and yellow. It sounded like a hundred breathy exhales, underscored by a deep, muted roar. Felline gasped and went to her knees, staring hard through the sudden gloom.

“Ghosts!” the twins yelled.

Clouds of mist swarmed down the slope, not slowed by the trees, glittering like fragments of crystal. They blocked Felline’s path back to the campsite.

“And they’re coming from the wood!” Cheetara cried.

Felline launched herself back up the hill with only one thought in mind: Get back to her friends.

Small globes of blue light appeared, bleeding out of the trees. She dodged a cluster of them, slipped on a patch of loose dirt, and went down on all fours.

“Wait a minute, where’s Felline?” Tygra asked, sounding annoyed.

The globes surrounded Felline, bobbing and swerving. With a hiss, she jumped to her feet, claws extended, eyes darting everywhere, seeking an opening. “I’m here!” she yelled. “I can’t get to you!”

He said something unflattering. Then, “Hang on, we’re coming!”

Tygra let off a few shots, and the most unearthly scream answered. The bolts flew over Felline’s head, disappearing into the night.

“I always say,” Panthro grunted, as if swinging his arms as hard as he could, “the problem with ghosts is that you can’t punch them in the face!”

The globes of light shifted like sand in water, growing, transforming. Great blue shapes that vaguely resembled avians blossomed out of them, their beaks open wide on green gullets, their eyes glowing yellow.

“Don’t worry,” Lion-O answered Panthro, out of sight over the hill. “I’ve got something that never fails.

“ThunderCats, _ho!”_

Nothing happened. Absolutely, positively, nothing. The Sword did not respond.

The spirits leaped into action. They swooped and spun, a maelstrom of disconnected, unpleasant emotions. Several veered off course and came straight at Felline, screaming in their high-pitched, bodiless voices, and then hit her with all the force of a wave, passing around her, through her, pinching and pummeling. She lost her footing on the slope and began to fall.

They were real; they were not real. Cold blue light buoyed Felline, but she slipped through it as if through water. Icy, enraged water that electrified her fur. The spirits bit and snapped at her until gravity got hold of her. When she hit the ground, she tucked in her arms and legs and let it take her in a bouncing, bruising roll. At the bottom of the hill, she went sprawling into a carpet of dusty-smelling pine needles.

Still, the spirits swooped madly around, multiplying, shrieking. The fire was long extinguished, the eldritch blue of her tormentors shining brighter than the Cheshire moon.

“What do you want?” she cried at them, lying full length and breathless on the ground. “Leave me alone!”

A particularly big spirit dive-bombed her, its shape changing, becoming that of a snowmeow. Felline screamed and threw her arms over her head. She felt her hair ruffle with the wind of its passing. As soon as the wind settled, she scrambled to her feet and started to run.

“Tygra! Lion-O! Help me!” she cried, but there was no answer. Where had everyone gone? Her voice echoed back at her, weak and frightened. She was utterly alone.

The spirits kept pace with her, ghostly wolf-shapes loping silently through the trees. Those same trees mocked her with a hundred feet of bare trunk before their lowest branches started, offering no cover whatsoever, no place to hide. When the spirits veered to head her off, Felline drew her rifle, hefted the gun, and took aim.

Each shot flew true, blasting apart the blue light-stuff of the spirits. They reformed, undiminished. They began to close on Felline, tightening a circle like a noose.

“Lion-O! Panthro!” Felline fired another useless, green-white bolt. Everywhere she looked, she could feel the pull of the spirits. Their anger. Their thirst. “Please, anybody, _help!”_

She would have to fight them. The spirits were too close, too numerous, and they’d begun shifting again. Forest animals of all description formed out of the swirling blue shapes. Demented rabbits snapping green fangs, impossibly long snakes whipping through the air, sly-eyed foxes growing to the size of bears, a deer with knives for antlers belling a challenge. Frantically trying to remember her training, Felline dropped the rifle and went on guard.

The spirits charged her one at a time, but so swiftly it was like standing against whitewater rapids. She punched and swung and kicked, but she could not stem the tide. It sent her sprawling in the dirt. The spirits gathered for the kill.

Then, with a great wail, they vanished.

Not like they had come, but all at once, sucked up by the night. Only when she realized that they weren’t coming back did she hear her own sobbing. She choked on the tears, curled so tightly around herself she didn’t know if she’d ever straighten out again.

After a few hysterical minutes, her sensitive ears picked up more soft cries somewhere off to her left. Maybe she wasn’t as alone as she’d thought.

“Hello?” Felline called, sounding both threatened and threatening. “Is somebody there?”

The other sobs stopped.

Felline waited, ears swiveling. “Is someone there?”

A small, feminine voice answered. “I . . . I’m not afraid of you!”

Felline could hear faint clicks and the sound of a padlock when a key turns its tumblers.

“Come on,” the voice said desperately. “This one? Or this? Oh, come on, are you all gone? Oh, no. He’s not going to like this.”

Gingerly, Felline stood up. She called, “Who are you?”

The clicking ceased. The other woman didn’t seem to be breathing, but then she suddenly shouted, “I am the Summoner! You are not welcome in the Forest of Magi Oar, intruder! Leave, before I call upon the spirits to exorcise you!”

She sounded terrified. Quiet as only a cat could be, Felline followed the sound of her voice. Apparently near tears, the woman returned to talking to herself. “No, you’re all gone. Every,” click, “single,” click, “one. _Yeek!”_

For Felline had found the owner of the voice. Her shriek made Felline scream, too.

Then they stood there, staring at each other.

The self-styled Summoner was tiny. She was only about as tall as the kittens, but willowy, a woman formed. A short, wispy dress clasped a wasp-thin waist and swirled around her slender thighs. At the sight of Felline, she shook from horned head to delicate, cloven hoof. She raised a pale-furred arm, the manacle around her wrist looking like its weight alone should have snapped all the bones clean in half, and pointed a twig-like finger at her.

“I’m warning you, I have . . . tremendous power . . .” she whispered, her lips trembling. Her large eyes were dark as walnuts, shining brown from corner to corner like a wild animal’s. “I don’t need paper to harness the forest’s magic, Wood Forger.”

“I don’t have any paper,” Felline said, spreading her hands. When this harmless display of her claws made the Summoner back up like a skittish doe, Felline crouched on her heels and tucked her hands in her lap, tail out for balance. She hoped making herself as small as possible would help calm this strange little person. “And I’m not a Wood Forger. I’m a ThunderCat.”

Horrified realization made a perfect O of the Summoner’s tiny mouth. All at once, she was back to talking to herself, twisting the hem of her skirt in her thin fingers.

“A ThunderCat? I’ve never heard of one of those. Could it be true? Only Zig can seal my spirits. Maybe this ThunderCat is in league with the Wood Forgers. At any rate!” With another lightning-quick change of demeanor, she drew herself up to her full height and resumed pointing imperiously at Felline. “You do not belong in this forest, ThunderCat. I demand you leave at once!”

Felline considered her opponent. “Or you’ll do what?” she asked mildly.

The Summoner’s lower lip quivered. Tears swamped her shiny, walnut-brown eyes. She slumped to the ground like a broken doll. “Oh, no! I . . . I’ve failed him,” she wailed.

“Failed who?” Felline asked, but when this only made the Summoner sob harder, she sat cross-legged on the ground. “Listen. My name is Felline. What’s yours?”

“F-Faun,” the Summoner said around a hiccup. She scrubbed her little fist into her eye and glared at Felline. “The Wood Forgers have gotten bolder of late, now that they have their wretched paper mill, and Viragor flies farther and longer every day. I was just trying to h-help, but n-now Zig has taken m-my friends.”

Holding out her empty hands, the manacles gleaming dully in the triple moonlight, she burst into fresh tears.

“He told me not to come,” she sobbed. “He warned me that I wasn’t ready, but the animals are disappearing, and he’s all alone.”

Felline had no idea what Faun was talking about, but there was one thing she understood. “You’re here by yourself?” she asked gently.

Miserably, Faun nodded. Her long hair was pale green, clasped in a red thong near the middle of her back, and her large ears hung behind her sharp-pointed horns, looking like wings, the feathers tipped in cerulean blue. The only kind of creature she could possibly be, Felline realized with awe, was a fairy. A real fairy. Like the kind in fairy tales.

“Me, too,” Felline said. “And now I’m lost.”

“Oh, sorry, that’s my fault.” Briskly, Faun got to her hooves and brushed dirt off her cream-colored dress. “See, I’ve never actually, um . . . been in battle before.”

A blush colored her thin face.

_I don’t know if I’d call that a battle,_ Felline thought wryly, but what she said was, “You’re brave. I don’t like fighting. It scares me.”

“But you have the lightning-stick!” Faun exclaimed. She pointed at the rifle, lying on the ground. She eyed Felline critically from head to toe. “And you look ferocious to me. ThunderCats must be great warriors. Anyway!”

With another of her mood swings, Faun bounded off as if she weighed no more than a pinecone, pushed by the wind. “You fell from this way. Come along!”

After checking to make sure her rifle wasn’t damaged, Felline holstered it and followed Faun’s pale form as it flitted through the trees, much like a ghost. In less time than she had expected, the Summoner led her right back to camp.

Which was deserted.

“Oh, dear,” Faun said. Her narrow shoulders drooped.

The fire looked as if it had been doused with water. It smoked sullenly, occasionally coughing up a dark blue spark or two. The tent had been knocked down, but otherwise, the site seemed undisturbed. The ThunderTank shone silver and serene under the three moons. It filled the only clearing they’d been able to find amid the weathered stumps of cut-down trees.

“They must not be in danger,” Felline said. “Panthro would never have left the tank otherwise.”

She looked around again. A trail of what seemed to be rectangular strips of paper, glowing as brightly gold as lanterns, magically suspended high in the air, snaked through the dark trees.

Comforted by their brightness, Felline made to follow the trail.

“No,” Faun whispered, grabbing Felline’s hand. She set her tiny hooves and pulled backward. “Don’t go that way.”

“Why not? I’m sure that’s where my friends have gone,” Felline said.

“That way is the Wood Forger’s School of Mystic Paper Arts.” Faun looked up, her eyes full of worry. “I’m afraid the lies of the headmaster, Zig, are complicated, full of nasty half-truths and thorns that ensnare. He might be trying to recruit your friends for evil.”

“You mean they might be in trouble?” Felline asked. She glanced at the floating paper strips. While they looked like they were on fire, they weren’t burning. The golden light beckoned, promising safety.

“Or did they abandon me?” she murmured, hardly aware she was speaking out loud. At that moment, the first few strips of paper winked out and fluttered, lifeless, to the ground.

Faun bit her lip. She tightened her grip, tugging more insistently than ever. “Come with me. I can help you.”

..::~*~::..

Slipping between massive, craggy trees, Faun led Felline into a hidden pocket of young, green life. The grotto seemed deserted. Ears swiveling for any sound, nose sniffing the night air, Felline lowered herself silently along slick river boulders. Her claws sank deep in sturdy moss. Faun hopped lightly ahead through a patch of night-blooming flowers, a waif or an afterthought, the tension bleeding off her with every step.

“This is Viragor’s Pool,” she explained. She pointed to a basin of rock filled with clear mountain water, continuously fed by a small, orderly waterfall at the narrow end. “It is the source of our magic, and it is where Viragor, the eternal guardian of the Forest of Magi Oar, nests. This is our most sacred place, which not even the Wood Forgers know about. We have kept its secret.”

The moonlight shone in Faun’s dark eyes. “I’m back,” she called.

Out they came. Forest creatures of all sizes and descriptions. Felline came to a rigid and shocked halt as the little fairy greeted each one with affection, even the great, shaggy, white snowmeow that could swallow her with one bite.

The snowmeow turned its head toward Felline and gave an accusing sort of whuff.

“Oh, it’s all right, she won’t hurt you,” Faun said to the catlike bear. A bunny snuggled contentedly in her thin arms. “Felline, these are my friends.”

Faun picked her way to the pool, trailing creatures large and small, her way lit by lightning bugs and her mint-green hair buzzing with bees.

Warily eyeing the snowmeow, Felline followed. “I thought you said that the spirits were your friends.”

“They are.” Faun put the bunny down and sat at the pool’s edge. She dangled her tiny cloven hooves in the glassy water, sending moss-green ripples across the black surface. She held out her arms so that the triple moonlight caught in the runes carved on the tumblers she wore. They were like manacles made of several stacked cylinders, able to spin on her thin wrists so that different runes lined up. Fingerless leather gloves protected her wrists. “See these? Viragor made them for me. With them, I can summon any creature who calls the Forest of Magi Oar home to assist me, wherever I am.”

Felline crouched next to her, wrapping her arms around her knees, careful not to disturb the array of hedgehogs snuffling at her toes. “That still doesn’t explain the spirits,” she said.

“Unfortunately,” Faun said, shoulders slumping, “my friends are being forced from their homes. They’re dying, you see. With each tree the Wood Forgers cut down, more precious lives are lost. If the magic of my friends is strong, however, I can summon them as spirits. But now Zig has captured them. Imprisoned them. And it’s all my fault. I never should have left the Pool.”

A scatter of tears fell in her lap. “He takes their trees. He kills the land. He imprisons their spirits. He is evil,” she said.

The animals crowded close, nuzzling her, cuddling her, avians clinging to her horns, geckoes nibbling her dress. Felline’s keen feline eyes picked out the silver flashes of minnows and trout in the pond, swirling in the water around Faun’s slender ankles. Somewhere nearby, tree froogs started up a chorus of _peeps_ and _too-whits._

Felline gazed around at the hidden grotto, awed. Peace infused the rough stone walls. She could smell the life in the water, the dirt. The forest had looked so barren. Dead, even, or close to it. Its unnatural silence seemed like a faulty memory now.

“Anyway.” Faun spread her fingers over the water. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

A blue fairy glow swelled beneath the surface, lighting up the grotto from below. To Felline’s amazement, a picture formed on the mirror-like pond, moving but silent. It showed a giant avian, gray with age. It turned its horny beak into the wind, flexing the wicked talons that sprouted from its toes. Bulbous yellow eyes swiveled under bushy brows. The wings flapped, scratching the air with vestigial claws at the bends, and the trailing tail feathers swept the sky.

The beak opened. “Get out of my forest,” the avian croaked in an ancient, resonant voice.

Felline jumped, thinking it was speaking to her. On it flew across the water’s surface, and she realized it was soaring around a building that shone white beneath the three moons.

“That is Viragor,” Faun said, her dark eyes never leaving the Pool.

“That?” Felline gasped.

From the way Faun had spoken of him, it had been clear that she was in love with her teacher, and that he either did not know or did not return her feelings. Felline could relate to that, after all. She’d expected another fairy, not this monster of an avian who, as she watched, slammed both feet into a white tower and sent it toppling to the ground in a shower of rectangular sheets.

“Is that the paper mill?” Felline asked.

“Yes,” Faun answered. “Watch. Zig and his students will try to defend it.”

In the vision, three creatures ran forward, Lion-O right behind them; Felline felt a brief burst of relief that he was all right. The creatures stood on two legs like cats, but there the similarity ended. They were furless, their smooth skin gray and lavender and brown, their fingers devoid of claws. They lacked Panthro’s raw strength or Cheetara’s wild beauty. Felline wondered, slightly offended, how Faun had mistaken a ThunderCat for one of them.

The tallest of them spat, “I will not let you terrorize us another day, beast!”

Felline stiffened. If Viragor, an intelligent being capable of speech, was nothing more than a beast to this Wood Forger, then what did he think of the cats?

Each Wood Forger wore a notebook strapped to his or her chest. When opened, each book released armor and helmets made of leather and paper.

“Wood Forgers, attack!” the tall, thin one commanded with a smirk, as though asking his followers to perform.

The squat brown male stepped eagerly forward. He cut paper snowflakes out of his notebook and sent them whizzing after the avian.

“You forget! I’ll always be stronger than you, Zig,” Viragor called, dodging the deadly stream. “I don’t need paper to harness the forest’s magic.”

The lavender female went next, folding a tiny square of paper, which she then threw. It enlarged in a burst of flame, becoming a firebird. Viragor flapped his enormous wings, putting out the flames and blasting the paper shape apart. The gale blew the Wood Forgers off their feet.

So much magic. Felline shivered. She’d once thought of technology as evil sorcery, but here, in this enchanted forest, she realized that technology was attainable, understandable, and malleable. Magic was the real mystery, totally beyond her ken.

A flash of red in the Pool made her lurch forward, her hand outstretched longingly.

“They helped us,” Lion-O said to the cats, raising the dagger-sized Sword of Omens. “Time to return the favor. _Ho!”_

Faun’s eyes narrowed. “This ThunderCat commands magic?”

“Yes,” Felline said, her heart breaking. The Sword had not responded to his call. “At least, he’s supposed to. The Sword is why we came here. Lion-O seems to have lost connection to the Eye of Thundera.”

“Maybe the Sword changed its mind about you,” Tygra quipped out of the vision, echoing her thought.

Faun touched one of her tumblers, turning it until it clicked into place. “It is all the same,” she murmured. “He must be here to take our trees. Did he send you to trick me into revealing our secrets?”

“Of course not!” Felline exclaimed. “Lion-O would never side with evil. This Zig that you spoke of – I believe you were right. He must have lied to Lion-O, convinced him to help.”

Something else was going on here, something that Felline wasn’t seeing. There were too many trees, and the forest was too big. Perhaps her friends were in the same boat.

“No!” she cried again in the next instant, hardly aware she was doing so. “Lion-O!”

For the mighty avian had dived, aiming straight for the king.

“Sorry! He’s not on the menu!” Cheetara yelled, dashing in front of Lion-O at the same instant Viragor, beak wide, reached him. The avian scooped her up, instead.

“Your friends are attacking Viragor,” Faun said coldly. She stood up. “They have not bothered to seek the truth.”

“You attacked us,” Felline reminded her. “Remember? Back at the campsite? As far as they know, the Wood Forgers saved them from evil spirits.”

Felline could tell that Faun had not considered the situation from that angle. Her face reddened with momentary confusion and guilt. Then she shook her head and tightened her shoulders. Imperiously, she said, “Tell me, why have you come to the Forest of Magi Oar?”

Felline couldn’t keep her eyes off the vision in the Pool. Cheetara had propped open Viragor’s mouth with her staff – but the staff bowed, bent, and finally broke. Tygra snatched Cheetara to safety with his whip before the beak snapped shut, and arrested her fall with strong arms.

Felline’s stomach clenched. Cheetara was perfectly capable of fighting without a weapon, but she was far more efficient with the staff than without it. Aside from Tygra’s pistol and Felline’s rifle, the cats couldn’t contend with a flying foe. Things were starting to look bad, indeed.

Viragor banked, coming around for another pass, crying out in anger.

“If we lose the mill, we lose everything,” the one named Zig said anxiously. Felline marveled at how clearly she could hear him through the Pool. Neither he nor his companions had gotten up but sat apathetically where Viragor had swept them, allowing the cats to fight for them.

“Don’t worry. He’s about to be grounded,” Lion-O assured him. So determined to do what was right that it blinded him. Like always.

“Faun, listen. We are seeking the Power Stones,” Felline explained quickly as Lion-O once more stood forward, this time extending the Gauntlet.

Faun gave her a sour look, determined to distrust whatever she heard.

Felline rushed on. “There are four. We already possess one – it’s what we call the Eye of Thundera, and it is what gives the Sword of Omens its power. The second Stone, we believe, is in Elephant Village. We have to get to it before Mumm-Ra –”

Faun dropped her hands and her jaw. “You have met with the Ever-Living? I know of him. He is an evil even more ancient than Viragor’s good.”

“Then you must believe me when I tell you that he is our mortal enemy.” Felline’s hands clenched. “He destroyed our home, burned our city, killed our families, and murdered our former king, to claim the Eye of Thundera. There aren’t many cats left. It’s up to us to stand up to him, to prevent him from regaining his lost power.”

In the Pool, Lion-O released the Gauntlet’s claws, snaring Viragor by the ankle. Both Felline and Faun heard him remark, “Maybe this is a bad ideAA!” his voice soaring and cracking like an adolescent’s when he was yanked into the air. Whether aware of his passenger or not, Viragor took to the sky once more, leaving the mill, the Wood Forgers, the ThunderCats, and several gray feathers behind.

Faun wouldn’t look at Felline. Her twiggy fingers twisted the hem of her skirt. “Perhaps it is you who are the liar.”

“We aren’t here to harm the forest!” Felline shouted, patience gone. “Why on Third Earth did you bring me here if you thought I was the enemy?”

“I don’t know,” Faun wailed, clapping her hands over her mouth and speaking through her fingers. “I never do anything right. I don’t know what I should do!”

“Well, I do,” Felline said. “I need to return to my friends. They’re in trouble. My king is now flying above this forest with your teacher. He’s all alone! Please, Faun, help me. We can stop this!”

The little fairy bit her lip. They stared at each other, unspeaking, divided by an invisible line of distrust. Who was right? Who was wrong? It was impossible to tell.

Then Faun bowed her horned head. Her face was lost in shadow.

“I’m sorry, Felline,” she said. She deliberately turned her tumblers, lining up the runes until they glowed green. “I want to trust you. Truly, I do – but I have to let Viragor decide.”

..::~*~::..

The chib-chib ran like the wind.

A jolting, bumpy wind whose mane kept getting in her mouth.

Crouched low over his back, gripping his blue hide with all four sets of claws, Felline glanced back. She could see nothing beyond the towering gray evergreens in the moonlight. Ahead of her, Faun and her chib-chib darted through the spaces between the trees. Felline’s chib-chib slalomed so hard that he mercilessly threw her into branches that slapped at her and tried to tear her from her perch. Even if she wanted, she would never be able to find that secret place, Viragor’s Pool, again. With the stars and two of the moons obscured by the brittle crowns of the trees, she had no idea which way the grotto lay, or the cats’ camp, or the path that led out. She was entirely dependent on the Summoner and her animal friends.

Faun was leading her to Viragor and, Felline hoped, Lion-O. She could hear the great avian crying out and wondered if that was how Faun knew which way to go, or if it was something else.

The chib-chib leaped over a boulder, nearly smashing Felline’s nose with his four curved horns.

_What I wouldn’t give for a Thunderian mount,_ she thought mournfully, watching the pink-furred hindquarters of Faun’s chib-chib disappear sharply to her left a second before hers followed. She had to admit, the chib-chibs were fast. Answering Faun’s summons, the buck and doe had allowed them to mount, although Felline did feel sorry for the buck. She could smell his terror at having a carnivore clinging to his back, feel it in his barely controlled flight.

Viragor’s cries were getting closer. A great shadow shuddered through the air overhead. Flying low, Viragor zoomed through the trees, faster than even the chib-chibs. She watched, aghast, as Lion-O, perched on the avian’s neck and stretching two handfuls of his head feathers taut like reins, yanked with all of his strength, steering the forest guardian straight for a behemoth of a tree.

“Stop!” Faun shrieked.

Viragor plowed into the tree with a terrible crunch, which sent Lion-O soaring off as if shot from a gun. While the giant avian fell, stunned, to the deadened ground in a rain of gray feathers, Lion-O latched onto another tree, completely unharmed. He let himself lightly down and turned to face his adversary.

“Watch out!” Felline yelled, but they were still too far away. Viragor recovered with lightning speed and took flight, skimming the ground. At the last moment, Lion-O saw him coming and dove out of the way. The great yellow beak snapped shut on the tree instead, breaking its trunk into a thousand spear-thick splinters.

“Eye of Thundera,” Lion-O called with increasing desperation, drawing the sleeping Sword from the Gauntlet. “Spirit of Jaga. Sword of Omens, do not fail me now!”

Already, Felline knew it wasn’t going to work. She sensed nothing, no tingling in her blood, no otherworldly voices in her head. She and Faun raced toward him while Lion-O called to the deaf Sword. “ThunderCats, _ho!”_

His lordly expression, when the Sword did not respond, shattered.

Viragor screamed. There was no time for Lion-O to dodge. He braced himself. Viragor collided with him like a battering ram and sent Lion-O tumbling in the dirt. The forest guardian swooped up, high, high, a black shape against the sky.

Apparently winded, Lion-O did not immediately stand.

“Lion-O!” Felline jumped from her chib-chib. She ignored it as it reared up and galloped in the opposite direction, and she ran to her king.

“Felline! You’re alive?” He put up a hand to steady her when she skidded to a halt and dropped to her knees. She grabbed it, grateful for the warmth and strength of his fingers.

“I’m fine,” she panted. “I’ve been with a guardian of the forest. Are you all right?”

“No.” He lifted the Sword, whose Eye was tightly sealed against him. “Why isn’t it working? What am I not seeing?”

Then, his eyes widened. He stared at Felline. “What do you mean, a guardian of the forest?”

“Her.” Felline pointed at Faun, who dismounted much more gracefully than Felline had. “She is apprenticed to Viragor.”

Faun did not smile. Felline decided to leave her be, because nothing would convince Faun of the truth except Lion-O’s actions. From not so far away, Viragor screamed again.

“But Zig said they’re protecting the forest from –” Lion-O broke off. His voice dropped to a whisper. “The bigger picture.”

“What are you talking about?” Felline allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Lion-O, we have to move. Viragor is coming back.”

“I know.” Deliberately, Lion-O sheathed the Sword. He pulled off the Gauntlet and threw both aside. He faced the oncoming avian with his arms spread wide.

“What are you doing?” Felline cried. Suicide wasn’t the sort of action she’d had in mind!

“I don’t think he’s the one I’m supposed to fight. But, if I’m wrong, you’d better run,” Lion-O said. He gave Felline a rueful smile.

“Are you insane?”

Apparently, he was. Hands and teeth clenched, he waited while Viragor closed the distance between them by a third. “Go.”

“No,” Felline said. Shaking, she drew her rifle, tossed it toward the Gauntlet, and then stood at his side. This was where she belonged. She should never have left in the first place.

“Felline,” Faun whispered, her eyes shining with tears. “You are the same. He is to you what Viragor is to me . . .”

Lion-O snarled at Felline. _“Go.”_

“Not unless you come, too,” she growled. Her resolve crumbled, beaten half to death by her pounding heart. Viragor was almost on them, but she wouldn’t move. She _wouldn’t._ “It’s my job to protect you.”

Suddenly, Faun was there, her thin arms raised to the sky. “Viragor! Stop! She is my friend!”

Viragor did not seem to hear her. He flapped right over her, shrieking. Looking down his wide, wet gullet, Felline knew how the chib-chib must have felt.

“Probably another bad idea,” Lion-O said, and then Viragor was on them.

Like a fishing osprey, the giant avian latched onto both cats with his talons and soared into the sky with them.

“Felline!” Faun shrieked. The last Felline saw of the Summoner was her pale face, shrinking into the blackness of the trees.

..::~*~::..

She was alive, if a bit breathless. Viragor had picked her up rather than tearing her to shreds. That was something.

“You’re gonna eat us, aren’t you?” Lion-O called up to their captor, sounding resigned. All Felline could see of him, dangling like a meece in Viragor’s talons, was his backside.

Viragor tilted his head and peered at Lion-O before he said, “Thinking about it.”

Felline’s heart sank. She saw absolutely no reason that Viragor wouldn’t, or couldn’t, do exactly as he pleased with them. Even if that meant eating them.

“Hey, Lion-O. Got any more ideas?” she called across the slipstream.

“Nope, all out. It’s your turn.”

Fabulous.

“What happened to you after the attack?” she asked. “You know, back at camp.”

“Us? What happened to you?” Lion-O laughed without humor. “We thought you were dead. Zig told us there was no way you’d survive an encounter with the spirits. That’s why we went with him. Felline – I’m sorry. We never would have left you if we’d known.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s okay. We’re together now.”

“You’re getting heavy, bugs,” Viragor interrupted. His ancient, resonant voice sounded inappropriately amused. “Mind if I drop you off here?”

“You won’t,” Lion-O said flatly. “Because you’re not evil, Viragor. Are you.”

The wings stilled and the horned head curved down. One large, yellow eye surveyed the cats out of its pouch of wrinkled, pockmarked skin. “Have you not been paying attention?” he asked waspishly.

Lion-O was quiet for so long that Felline thought he wasn’t going to answer, so she did. “I don’t believe that you’re evil, either. The Wood Forgers were willing to leave me for dead, but your apprentice helped me.”

Lion-O spoke. “The Sword of Omens wouldn’t work against you or the spirits. The spirits didn’t harm Felline. I thought it was me, but it’s because the Sword can’t be used against a force of good.”

“Interesting theory,” Viragor mused. “Willing to risk your life for it?”

“I am,” Lion-O said.

“So am I,” Felline bravely echoed.

Viragor’s visible eye widened. “Let me show you something,” he said, and the wings began to flap once more.

Far below them, triple moonlight glinted off a river, which meandered around large rocks and the ever-present trees. They were high enough to see the exposed mountains that ringed two-thirds of the forest, standing guard much like the peaks around Thundera once had. The giant moon Leo, Cheshire floating in front of her, rested upon the mountaintops like a dull crystal ball. Panthera had not yet begun her descent.

“The Magi Oar is an ancient forest,” Viragor told them, all the bite in his tone gone, “one I’ve cared for, for centuries.”

“I thought that was the Wood Forger’s job,” Lion-O interjected.

“They sure give that impression, don’t they?” Viragor huffed. “No. They’re merely guests, and they’ve outworn their welcome.”

Felline soon realized that Viragor had not been flying aimlessly. Out of the night, the white paper building she’d seen in the Pool came into focus, brownish smoke puffing out of narrow, cylindrical smokestacks. It was a lovely building, all sharp towers, flying buttresses, and mullioned windows, its walls enclosing a paper-tiled quadrangle. Two enormous water wheels regularly turned, powering the mill and the warm, welcoming lights. Felline wondered how many Wood Forgers lived there; the thought of only three occupying such a large compound was enough to make her ill.

“I allowed them into the forest because I believed in their mission,” Viragor went on. His voice dropped. “But Zig wanted more power. That meant more paper, so he built the mill.”

Viragor banked. He flew over rolling hills until they passed over a section of stark devastation. Tree stumps rotting in the ground dotted the barren, scarred hillsides for miles. Sorrow welled up in Felline. It was just as Faun had said. There was nothing left.

Viragor flapped toward the ground, gently releasing the cats into the grayish grass. He landed next to them, folding his massive wings.

“Once, they were content with fallen timber,” Viragor hissed. “Now, they strip my forest. Don’t they understand these trees are alive?”

He bowed his horned head, his profile majestic and sad. “That mill must be destroyed.”

Lion-O and Felline shared a glance. No discussion was needed. The forest had spoken for them.

“We’ll help you,” Lion-O said.

“Then you might need this,” said a small, feminine voice.

Faun stepped out of the trees, her willow-thin arms wrapped around the Gauntlet and Sword of Omens. Her walnut-brown eyes shone. Behind her, the blue-white snowmeow trudged with Felline’s rifle in its mouth.

“Thank you,” Lion-O said, surprised.

A smile spread across Faun’s pale-furred face. She clasped her hands behind her back while Lion-O put on the Gauntlet. “I couldn’t let my friend go into battle unarmed,” she said shyly.

Impulsively, Felline dropped to her knees to meet Faun eye-to-eye. “We are friends, aren’t we?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Faun whispered back.

Lion-O knelt before her, too, a gesture filled with much more meaning, coming from a king. “Thank you for watching out for her for me. I should never have left her,” he said. He smiled at Faun. “I am in your debt.”

“No,” the Summoner said. She dropped a curtsey. “You are part of Magi Oar now, Lion-O, Lord of the ThunderCats.”

“I am honored,” he said, his voice gruff.

“Then come, friend.” Viragor leaned down, offering one of his bark-like, twisted horns as a handhold. “We will end this tonight.”

Easily, Lion-O swung himself aboard and then reached for Felline. She hugged him around the waist, resting her cheek against his back, as he gathered up handfuls of Viragor’s head feathers.

She was glad Lion-O couldn’t see her face. It felt good to be near him like this. Her king. Her friend. Someone she could talk with, and fight side by side with.

She would never take his friendship for granted again.

“Viragor, Zig has captured the spirits,” Faun said from somewhere near his taloned feet. “I’m sorry. I made a mess of everything.”

“No, little one.” Viragor blew at her, his breath swirling her skirt around her thighs. From the static in her fur, Felline guessed there was more magic than air in the exhalation. “Without you, we never would have reached an understanding with the ThunderCats. You are courageous beyond measure. Together, we will free our friends.”

Faun glowed at his praise, and Felline was glad for her.

Viragor crouched and opened his wings with a deafening flap. “Faun. Return to the Pool,” he commanded. “I need you to watch our backs.”

The little fairy retreated, walking backward. She waved. “Good luck, Felline!”

“You, too!” Felline called back. “Thank you for everything!”

Then Viragor launched into the sky, which had grown blacker with the setting of two of Third Earth’s moons. Only Panthera remained to light their way. Soon enough, the School of Mystic Paper Arts hove into view. Viragor cried out to announce their presence. Far below, Zig and his followers dashed into the quad, preparing to fight.

A flash of sun yellow scorched the night. Cheetara appeared in front of the Wood Forgers, her arm outflung. Her quick feline eyes had probably seen Lion-O and Felline atop the giant avian. She and Zig seemed to be arguing, but Felline couldn’t hear them over the wind in Viragor’s feathers.

With a grace belied by his incredible size, Viragor landed on the paper that tiled the quadrangle. Lion-O leaped down, followed by Felline.

He frowned at the Wood Forgers.

“You haven’t been telling us the whole story, have you, Zig?” he asked in a dangerous purr.

Zig answered the question with another. “What is the meaning of this, Lion-O?”

Lion-O ignored him and turned to their friends. “Viragor’s no monster,” he said baldly.

Cheetara made a sound of amusement through her nose. “He did break my staff,” she said, a hand propped on her shapely hip.

“Sorry about that,” Viragor said. Felline was sure that, if he could have, he would have grinned.

She giggled. Cheetara caught her eye, and they smiled at each other. Cheetara had figured it out, as well. Good. They wouldn’t need to waste time convincing the others.

“He is the true protector of this forest,” Lion-O butted in, obviously in no mood for jokes.

With the rustle of his paper armor, Zig rushed over to Lion-O. “Is your vision so misguided that you’ve taken up his cause?” he asked indignantly.

“You’re one to talk about misguided vision,” Viragor remarked.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Zig,” Lion-O said. Zig reluctantly pulled his gaze down from the gargantuan avian to the shorter cat. “Your school can exist in harmony with the forest.”

Zig shook his helmeted head. His eyes were as pale as ice, Felline noticed, the sclera and the irises nearly silver, ringed in black, the pupils flat, circular discs. His ears were even stranger than that, rounded and curled like sliced-off seashells. Still, he did not look evil; he was simply angry. “Some must suffer for the greater good, Lion-O,” he said.

“And who decides what the greater good is?” Lion-O retorted, unable to completely hide his fangs.

They may not have been cats, but the Wood Forgers heard the message loud and clear: The Wood Forgers and the ThunderCats had just become enemies. Zig’s two students flanked him, paper in their hands and at the ready.

So be it. Although no one had drawn a weapon, the cats stood firm, Viragor looming behind them.

“You still can’t see the big picture, can you?” Zig demanded.

“I think I’m finally starting to,” Lion-O answered.

Zig smiled. He was an excellent orator, charismatic and confident. It was no wonder that Lion-O had believed his lies, for he believed them himself. “You have failed to learn your lesson, so I must try a stricter approach,” he said, in the same disappointed tone Felline’s old teacher Korvu used to use.

He slapped his hands together, calling upon his magic. Two scrolls of paper unrolled from his back. As his hands danced in the night, sheets of paper formed layers upon the scrolls, until he had created a set of crude wings. It was all done so fast no one had any time to stop him when he lifted into the air like a bizarre, stringless kite.

“Wood Forgers, attack!” he cried from the safety of the sky.

Lion-O leaped into the air, turning in a slow backflip to land once more upon Viragor’s head. Viragor’s eyes never left the retreating form of Zig. His wings flapped open.

Felline didn’t ask permission. She didn’t ask herself where she was most needed. Impulsively, she sprang for the giant avian’s back. As soon as she touched down, he propelled himself after the headmaster, who took one look at what was chasing him and sped off. The force of Viragor’s acceleration flattened Felline along his slick feathers, keeping her in place. Or maybe it was magic. She found she could stand up no matter how he banked, climbed, or looped.

Far below, the ThunderCats engaged the remaining two Wood Forgers. Felline couldn’t see much beyond various explosions and flashes of light as the battle for the forest commenced. More flashes drew her eyes forward. Zig was a black speck against Panthera when he unleashed a barrage of paper missiles from the notebook strapped to his chest. They looked like shooting stars, leaving pale afterimages behind.

Instantly, Viragor went into a series of crazy rolls and lunges, putting on a burst of speed here, tucking his wings there, as the glowing missiles screamed through the night. Like a cluster of angry wasps, they tracked the great avian, forcing him to break off his pursuit of Zig.

Even though she could no longer tell which direction was up, this was something she could deal with. Felline lay on her stomach amid huge gray feathers, rifle primed and ready, and began firing in short, concentrated bursts of green. One after another, the paper missiles exploded. Lion-O joined her, striking them down with the Sword before they could connect with Viragor’s head. It was a hectic, instinctual triangle of trust, all three reliant on the others to stay alive, but Felline began to despair. There were so many missiles, a seemingly never-ending supply. Viragor streaked for the trees, perhaps hoping to lose them in the tight spaces, but Felline hissed a curse when the tactic interfered with her line of sight.

She snapped off two more shots before fifteen of the missiles caught up to them. Then, the world quite simply blew apart.

..::~*~::..

Smothering darkness and heat. Felline smelled smoke and ash, the overwhelming stink of feathers. Dirt. Blood.

A horrible ringing had taken up residence between her ears. She didn’t want to move. Afraid that if she did, the shelter might collapse on her, transform her into another of those little bonfires that had replaced her fellow Thunderians.

One word surfaced through the cloying syrup that was her mind.

Lepra.

She had to go home. Had to get to her sister before –

– before –

_I smell blood._

Felline gagged. She could taste it too, iron and copper coating her tongue. She spat out a mouthful.

For a few seconds after that, she concentrated on breathing. She wasn’t in Thundera. This was Magi Oar, and she was lying on the ground, trapped by one of Viragor’s heavy wings.

A body shifted next to her in the dark. Lion-O.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I think so.” She coughed, licked blood off her lip. It flowed from her nose, dribbled down the back of her throat. “I’m going to check on Viragor.”

“Right.” Lion-O grunted, shifting enough of the giant wing to allow her to scoot sideways. She reached out with her hands, hoping to feel Viragor breathing, or a heartbeat, or –

Boots crunched in gravel. “The mighty Viragor, broken and defenseless,” Zig triumphantly proclaimed to the night.

Felline’s ears flattened. To gloat over a fallen enemy, to take pride in stolen power, to yearn so badly to wrest a position from its rightful owner that he’d become blind to all else, infuriated her.

“Not completely defenseless,” Lion-O yelled. With difficulty, he lifted the wing clear and stood up.

“You see,” he said conversationally, “my sword seems to be working again.”

Felline grinned, but she did not dare stand or draw attention to Viragor – who was, indeed, breathing, if shallowly.

Zig clenched his flat teeth and backed up a step.

“It’s time for you to start seeing things in a new light, Zig,” Lion-O said. He drew the Sword. “Thunder. Thunder! _Thunder!_ ThunderCats, _ho!”_

For the first time in days, the Sword answered. It growled with the voices of vengeance, awakening to its full size and glory. The Eye’s slit pupil opened wide and sent a blast of red lightning directly at the Wood Forger.

Zig had no way to block the attack. As he screamed, the Eye tore away his paper wings, his armor, and his notebook. It saw into his heart, stripping him bare.

With Felline’s help, Viragor regained his feet and watched with great interest as the red beam winked out, leaving the Wood Forger looking much smaller and thinner. Zig fell to his hands and knees, his head bowed in submission. When Viragor’s shadow covered him like ink, he looked up, eyes wide.

“You are no longer headmaster of this school,” the ancient guardian crooned. “I am.”

Zig did not answer. He got up and ran.

“You didn’t hurt him,” Felline murmured after the sound of his footsteps died away.

Lion-O looked down at her and smiled. “No,” he agreed, sheathing the shrunken Sword. “I cannot harm a force of good. Zig’s power corrupted him. The paper was the true evil – at least, that was what it represented.”

Lion-O stared in the direction Zig had escaped, his mane dark red in the moonlight. “Maybe someday he will return, and do it right.”

“Ah, you have learned your lesson well,” Viragor said in a passable imitation of Zig. “I have no more to teach you, young bug.”

Lion-O and Felline burst out laughing, which made Viragor’s feathers puff up in a smile.

..::~*~::..

It took the rest of the night to dismantle the paper mill, even with the help of the ThunderTank’s claws. The remaining Wood Forgers – who, Felline learned, were named Gami and Nips – did not speak. Not to argue, not to question, and not to help. Leaderless, they hid inside the school, and the ThunderCats were content to let them.

Dawn found the strange group of allies in the devastated clearing. Viragor and Faun stood on the demarcation between forest and tree stumps, surrounded by Faun’s forest creatures, and the ThunderCats faced them from the unfiltered sunlight.

“We’re safe now, because of you,” the Summoner said, leaning against Viragor’s scaly leg.

“I owe you my thanks, ThunderCats,” Viragor said. He fanned out one of his wings, and Felline could hear the clunk of something wooden falling from it to the ground. When he withdrew the wing, they could all see that it was a staff, inscribed with a golden symbol.

“A gift from the oldest tree in this forest,” Viragor explained, and the staff glowed momentarily green. “It’s alive with great magic,” he added.

Lion-O smiled at Cheetara as the cleric stepped forward and gathered the staff in her creamy hands.

“I accept it with great humility,” she said.

Everything was coming together. Even Tygra was cheerful when he said, “Now, Lion-O. Wanna try putting what you learned to use?”

Lion-O nodded, his face clear and at peace. He drew the Sword.

“Sword of Omens,” he said, holding it up to his eyes so that the hilt curved around them like a mask. “Give me Sight Beyond Sight!”

The cats waited, watching the vision glow silver in his blue eyes, swim diaphanous through the depths of the Eye of Thundera. Then the Sword growled a goodbye and shrank.

Lion-O grinned.

“Let’s go get that Stone,” he said.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Felline reclined across three hard, uncomfortable seats, and propped her head in her hand. The silver bob was a soothing shape between her fingers. She studied Lion-O’s stylized profile in the daylight streaming through the open hatches, thinking of Lepra, of Bastien, of her own bed in her own room. The rumble of the ThunderTank was putting her to sleep. This was the part of their journey she liked the least – the journeying. The tank’s cockpit could only hold two, and she wasn’t quite tall enough to stand in the hatches like Cheetara and Lion-O were doing, so she was hanging out in their living area.

WilyKit, opposite her both in location and temperament, couldn’t sit still. The kitten hopped onto her seat, hooked her hands around one of the upper bunk supports, and swung her legs back and forth.

“I’m excited we’re going back to the Elephant Village,” she said, tail curling contentedly. “I can’t wait to see Aburn.”

“Like he’ll even remember you,” WilyKat scoffed, referring to the fact that once a thought entered an elephant’s head, it immediately left again, but he grinned. “What’s so great about that place, anyways?”

Kit let go and plopped between her brother and Snarf. “I guess it just feels like home,” she said with an oddly apologetic smile.

Felline looked up.

Kat scowled at his sister. He whipped a familiar, worn sheet of parchment out of his bag and thrust it in her face. “We’ll be home when we get to El-Dara,” he reminded her angrily.

In all this time, the two of them had never given up on searching for the fairy tale city of unimaginable wealth.

Felline’s curiosity showed in the flick of her ears. Funny, she hadn’t thought of the kittens as having a home – and the way WilyKit had stressed the word made it clear that she was referring to a place of safety and comfort, populated by more than themselves, rather than the general idea of Thundera. However, the kittens obviously did not want to talk about it in front of her.

Taking the hint in their charged silence, Felline shrugged, pocketed the coin, and pulled herself up the hatch. Cheetara made room for her, smiling. By propping her arms on top of the tank, Felline could hang in relative comfort, the wind and sunshine in her face. Panthro drove through the heavily forested area that led up to the hills of the elephants.

“So the Spirit Stone’s been in that blasted hut all along?” he asked, continuing a conversation that must have been going on for a while.

“Not exactly,” Lion-O called down to him. “It’s in the Astral Plane.”

“And where on Third Earth are the Astral Plains?” Panthro groused.

Cheetara took pity on him. “It’s not _on_ Third Earth at all, Panthro. The Astral Plane is a spirit realm. The hut is just a gateway in.”

Lion-O and Cheetara had discussed this at length the night before, with Felline and the kittens listening in. From all that Lion-O could describe of the Sword’s visions, Cheetara had made the connection, but Felline could understand Panthro’s frustration when he demanded, “Is it in the village, or isn’t it?”

“It is,” Tygra said from the copilot’s seat, “and it isn’t.”

Panthro let out his breath in an irritated growl, one short fuse away from accusing them all of being deliberately obtuse.

Bored, Felline tucked her toes into a seam between metal plates and leaned over the side of the tank, Cheetara’s warmth at her back, and watched the forest thin and eventually give way to boulder-dotted grasslands. As if on their own, the tank’s treads discovered a dirt road, uneven and uncared for. The tank’s shadow flitted along beside them. It snapped up whenever a boulder passed by and then shot back down to skim the long grass in a hypnotic, irregular rhythm. The engine purred like a well-fed cat. One of the wheels was squeaking.

_Needs oil,_ Felline thought drowsily. Her eyes drifted closed.

From behind, she heard Lion-O say, “Took a while, but I finally got the hang of this thing.”

She looked over her shoulder. Lion-O lifted the Sword of Omens, which had extended for him even though they weren’t in battle.

Felline grinned and started to say, “Good for you,” but Cheetara beat her to it.

“I knew you could do it,” she said warmly.

With a mental shrug, Felline went back to staring over the side. Her mind drifted to lunch. The squeaking continued. She frowned down at what she could see of the treads, wondering if Lion-O would allow them time to take care of it before they hunted down the Stone.

“There was a reason the Sword chose you,” Cheetara went on. She reached across the top of the tank to lay her hand on Lion-O’s and squeeze. She then ducked back inside.

“Probably the same reason she’s gonna choose me,” Lion-O bragged loudly down at Tygra, apparently not caring if Cheetara heard him. Smirking, he also went inside.

Felline watched his red head disappear, surprised that he would say such a thing. So boldly, so confidently. She felt overexposed, half inside the tank and half out of it. Lion-O, Cheetara, the twins, and Snarf could see her dangling legs. She clambered through the hatch to sit on the roof, leaving just her feet inside.

Felline knew Lion-O wanted Cheetara. Everyone knew. It seemed that in his mind, nothing and no one mattered except for winning Cheetara’s love.

From the cockpit, Felline clearly heard Tygra say under his breath, “Just like the Sword, one more thing you don’t deserve.”

Felline said nothing at all. Tygra probably didn’t know how good her hearing was and wouldn’t have said something so raw, so rife with festering jealousy and overflowing with one-sided love, where another cat could hear. If Panthro had heard, he’d chosen silence as the proper response, as well.

Felline stared down at her knees. It wasn’t right for brothers to fight this way. Sure, she and Lepra had had a disagreement or two, but they’d never fought over something the other possessed. They’d been friends as well as sisters, looking out for each other as best they could. And WilyKat and Kit were inseparable. Distinct and separate personalities, bound by love. Why weren’t Lion-O and Tygra more like them?

Felline sighed. From her perch, she could see for miles. Thick columns of smoke on the horizon yanked her out of her reverie.

“Stop the tank!” she yelled, but she needn’t have. Panthro, even with only one good eye, had seen the smoke, too. He slammed on the brakes, nearly sending Felline headfirst into his lap.

“By Thundera!” he exploded.

“The Elephant Village,” WilyKit moaned. She had climbed out of the hatch with Cheetara, looking a bit tousled from the sudden deceleration. “What happened?”

The village was burning. The smoke obscured all but the large, purple jacaranda at the far western end.

“Sword of Omens,” Lion-O said, drawing it. “Give me Sight Beyond Sight.”

The cats waited anxiously while the Sword growled, taking their king’s consciousness far away, across the grasslands, up the sandstone hill, and into the village.

“We’re too late,” he reported a moment later, lowering the Sword. “The lizards have found the hut.”

Several cats hissed a horrified _no._

“They’ve found the hut, but what about the Stone?” Felline asked. If she remembered correctly, the only thing the hut held in this realm was an old, dry broom.

“Not yet,” Lion-O answered, meeting her eyes. A reckless grin struggled to pull up the corners of his mouth.

“Which means –” Tygra started.

“– that we’re not too late,” Cheetara finished.

They shared the grin.

“Panthro, let’s go,” Lion-O ordered.

“Go where?” the big cat huffed, nevertheless putting the tank in gear while Felline and the others climbed back down to take their seats.

“Somewhere we can get a better look at our enemy,” Lion-O said. He swung himself down, taking the seat next to Cheetara. Snarf immediately jumped into his lap.

“Nyaa?” Snarf asked.

“Don’t worry, Snarf,” Lion-O told him, scratching the tuft of yellow fur between his ears. “We’re not going to let them win.”

“Aburn,” Kit sniffled.

Dusk had claimed the sky for its own by the time they reached a rocky, wooded promontory about a mile from the village. There, where they were no longer in danger of the sun glinting off the tank, they crowded the edge of the cliff, hidden by bushes and low trees. Panthro produced a spyglass and peered through it.

“Grune,” he muttered as if the name alone had the power of giving him a stomachache. He handed the spyglass to Felline.

“We need to go about this delicately,” Lion-O said, speaking in hushed tones. No one knew how well the lizards could hear, and they couldn’t risk their voices carrying and giving away their position. “He’s got hostages.”

“Aburn?” WilyKit fretted.

When Felline put the spyglass to her eye, she saw that Lion-O was right. The situation inside the village sharpened into painful focus beneath the pink and lavender sky. The lizards were there, all right. Using their war mechs and rifles, they’d gathered the elephants and forced them onto their meditation circle in the center of a lotus-filled pond. Standing room only. The elephants themselves looked politely confused rather than afraid. In their center, she glimpsed Aburn’s cropped patch of orange hair. She passed along the news.

“That’s good,” Tygra murmured.

WilyKit looked up at him with big eyes.

Gently, he explained, “It means no one has been hurt yet.”

“What are you thinking, Lion-O?” Cheetara asked.

“Let’s wait until nightfall,” he said as Felline lowered the spyglass. His gaze was on the smoke columns. “Use stealth.”

“Are you kidding?” Tygra asked in a stage whisper. “We can’t waste time waiting for the right window. We should move in now. I say that we take the tank. It’s our only chance against their firepower.”

“Why do you have to challenge every command I make, Tygra?” Lion-O snapped.

“Because I was the one who actually studied military strategies with Father while you goofed off,” Tygra retorted.

“The tank can’t make it,” Cheetara put in, irritation tingeing her words. Her voice softened when Tygra’s brown eyes reluctantly met hers. “Besides, I’ve always considered stealth to be your greatest strength.”

Like spectators at a ball game, Felline, Lion-O, Kat, Kit, and Snarf looked back and forth between them. Nobody said anything.

Tygra turned his face away. “No wonder I’ve always been invisible to you,” he whispered to himself.

Biting her lip, Felline returned the spyglass to Panthro. “I counted twenty-four lizards, besides Grune, two tanks, and three mechs,” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard a thing. She was hurting for her prince, because, just a little, she knew how he felt.

“That makes three lizards for each of us, plus the rest,” WilyKat put in.

“Piece of cake,” his sister said.

So, without hearing Tygra’s voice again, they settled down to map out a strategy for taking back Elephant Village.

..::~*~::..

The grass reached her chin. As planned, Felline stuck close to Tygra. For such a big cat, he moved with a velvet tread. Tigers were better at stealth than lions, cheetahs, or even panthers, but not snow leopards. He was a foraging meece in the grass; she was a raptor’s shadow.

Smiling, she passed him and glanced up to see if he’d noticed.

He hadn’t. His eyes were fixed on the ground. By the pained twist of his mouth, he was either about to be violently sick or was struggling with the fact that Lion-O and Cheetara had paired up for the mission. They waded through the grass a yard or so ahead of Felline and Tygra, heading for the sandstone hill.

“Ever since we were cubs, Tygra’s fought me at every turn,” Lion-O murmured to Cheetara, loud enough for his brother to hear, but Tygra seemed lost in bitter reflections and didn’t so much as raise his striped head.

“Tigers are known for their pride,” Cheetara replied in a smiling tone that said there wasn’t anything to do about something so fundamental except accept it.

“It goes deeper than that,” Lion-O disagreed. “There’s always been some kind of darkness in him.”

“Probably because he’s been in his younger brother’s shadow all his life,” Cheetara pointed out.

She then returned her attention to the village at the top of the hill. Lion-O, taking the hint, did the same.

“It’s time. Let’s move,” he said.

“Still think we need the tank,” Tygra grumbled.

“Maybe. But we’re going to do this without it,” Felline murmured.

Tygra looked down at her, and she up at him.

“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, quieter than a whisper.

Surprised by his sudden, unexpected concern, Felline didn't answer. He misread her expression.

“It’s not that I think you’re going to mess up,” he said, frowning, “but sending you in there alone isn’t the smartest idea. I’m sure Lion-O knows that, but he’s too stubborn to listen to sense.”

“I can do this,” she said. She didn’t want to say Cheetara’s name right then, but he had to know how much time the cleric had put into Felline’s training. Felline had even started beating the kittens in their sparring lessons. “Don’t worry about me.”

She couldn’t say what she was really thinking: That she was touched by Tygra’s concern, but at the same time, concerned for him as well. It was a new feeling. All this time, Tygra had kept his distance from her, and she from him. She felt a twinge of regret. Who knew – maybe they could have been friends long before now.

“Right,” he said, but his dark eyes drifted toward Cheetara and his brother. Darkly, he added, “You’re just as stubborn as he is. See you at the top.”

Like everything else in the elephant’s domain, the meadow grasses disguised long, earthy hillocks – what was left of fields left to stand fallow and forgotten. They scrambled over these and fanned out, each cat scaling a section of the hill so that they could infiltrate the village without larger numbers alerting their enemy.

The quiet night sent chills along Felline’s spine. Alone, she dropped to all fours each time she needed to cross the switchback road cut directly into the hill, tail streaming out behind her, too exposed on its gravelly span. She was supposed to neutralize the outlying guards on her way in to keep them from sounding the alarm or closing in from behind, and she was supposed to do it without killing them. That was Lion-O’s order, at least.

At the summit, Felline crouched in the concealing branches of a shrub and peered through the leaves. Confront but not kill lizards. She smiled to herself. Only her king would issue such a command. He was kind, for a lion. Their exile had done much. To all of them.

She pricked her ears forward. Only two lizards patrolled her immediate area. She could hear their dry, raspy breathing and smell the odd dustiness of their scales.

She waited, shoulders tense. Now was the time to put Cheetara’s training to use. Felline was a small cat, weak and unpracticed, so, according to Cheetara, surprise was her only strength. She didn’t doubt the cleric for a minute.

Two lizards? Yeah. She could do this.

Right?

Just then, one of the lizards turned toward her by chance.

Felline exploded from the shrub. With her left hand, she reached out and pushed the lizard’s rifle to the side. With her right, she swung up, catching him full in the bony chin with the heel of her hand. Rubbery-necked, his head whipped back alarmingly fast, teeth crashing together with jarring force. He crumpled.

The other lizard aimed his rifle at her. Felline didn’t waste a second. She seized his rifle and pulled. Naturally, he pulled back. Using his own strength against him, Felline abruptly shoved the rifle forward and up, breaking the grip of the lizard’s slender green fingers, slamming the butt of the weapon into his soft, white throat. Tail thrashing, bulbous eyes popping, he gagged and then went as limp as his partner.

Panting, Felline dropped the rifle on his unmoving form. She had done it. She had really done it. Before fear could catch up to her, she stepped around the unconscious lizards. Darting to an oddly smooth boulder, what once might have been part of a statue, she peered over it. The way was clear; the alarm had not been sounded.

Grune stood in moonlight that dulled his golden armor, one hand propped on his hip. A large, red jewel centered in his chest plate had some kind of device worked into it, but she couldn’t tell what it was from that distance. As quietly as she could, she streaked for the cover of underbrush, meeting up with Panthro. Lion-O was already there with Snarf, as were Cheetara and Tygra. The twins, however, were missing.

“The third moon is rising,” Grune announced. “Are you ready to talk?”

“I love a good discussion,” Anet said, his formal speech hesitant out of confusion and probably an underlying echo of worry that he couldn’t place. Felline couldn’t see the elephant leader’s face, only his massive back and the flag-like, wrinkled ears that lay upon it. “Any topic in particular?”

Grune growled, softly, dangerously, and then he smiled around his remaining fang. “Very well. Since you have more than tried my patience, start with Aburn!”

This last, he yelled at his lizard subordinates. Felline caught her breath on a gasp, the sound hidden by the onset of chatter from the corralled elephants, and the low, musical sound of their breathing through their trunks. Hissing, the helmeted lizards thrust bayonets into the cluster of gentle giants, weeding the orange-haired pachyderm from his kinsfolk. Aburn sidled into the open, his small eyes fixed blankly on the rifles.

“Aburn!” a small voice squeaked from somewhere to Felline’s right. “We have to do something!”

“Kit! Wait!” Kat cried out desperately, but the little wildcat, slender as a twig, bounded into the open and slithered up a shattered stone sphere.

“No one. _Touches._ MY. _FRIEND!”_ she yelled.

“Hey, it’s Kit!” Aburn gleefully shouted. He raised a huge hand in greeting, his gray face overspread in smiles. He pointed. “And look, you brought Linus and your friends.”

Linus – that was what Aburn frequently called Lion-O, unable to remember his real name. Felline’s ears drooped. Like the others, she reluctantly stood. There was nothing else to be done. Wave after wave of lizards rolled toward them, all angry, all armed.

“Weapons on the ground or the grass-eater gets it,” Grune called. He raised a spiked mace that fizzed and crackled as electricity licked up its angular sides. “I assure you, I won’t miss a target this big.”

Lion-O, his face contorted in rage, said nothing. The Sword of Omens clanked upon the stone ground and shrank into itself. Cheetara put her new staff down next, which was followed by WilyKit’s flupe and WilyKat’s flink. Felline added her rifle to the pile, on top of Tygra’s pistol. Deliberately, the prince unhooked his blue whip, coiled it, and dropped it.

Grune looked like he might laugh. His brown eyes slid to Panthro. “General?” he asked in a low growl.

Panthro’s growl sounded much more impressive, making Felline shiver, but all he did was hiss, “Traitor,” before he threw down his nunchaku with a rattle of chain.

Grune approached the ThunderCats, dwarfing Lion-O the way the elephant Anet dwarfed Panthro. Tail lashing at her ankles, Felline backed up, her eyes never leaving Grune’s bearded face. It was an unconscious move, something born of her small size, perhaps, or the threat she could feel in the air emanating from him; she stopped when she bumped into Tygra at the back of the pack. He steadied her with the tips of two fingers but didn’t look at her. Grune picked up the Sword, his hand swallowing it to the hilt.

“At last, the Sword falls into worthy hands,” he said. He tilted it so that the stars swam across the blade. “Of course, it’s not what I came here for. Where is the Spirit Stone?”

Lion-O glanced down at his own blade, leveled at his throat, and then returned Grune’s smile. “Have you checked the hut?”

“Oh.” The smile left the big cat’s face as if Lion-O had slapped it off, and the Sword began to shake as his fingers tightened. Felline could see the device on his chest now, a two-headed snake twined over itself. Mumm-Ra’s emblem. It made her feel sick. “You may be prepared for your death, but are you prepared for theirs?”

On cue, the lizards surrounding the silent elephants powered up their rifles.

“I don’t know where it is,” Lion-O said quietly. He closed his eyes, turning his face aside.

“And yet you came back to the village,” Grune accused. He turned around and shouted, “Wipe out the entire herd!”

Felline gasped. Tygra was the only one who didn’t.

“My turn, Lion-O,” he said, nearly inaudible under the sound of the war mechs powering up.

Felline turned wide eyes toward him. He melted into the night when she reached for him. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her Grune’s back. And Lion-O’s.

She gazed longingly at Lion-O, and then her claws snagged Tygra’s arm. The prince glared at her, but she was already in motion. Any hesitation now and Grune would hear them or someone – Aburn, perhaps – would see them, so he grabbed her hand, towing her without a noise into the underbrush. He released her quickly. She did her best to keep up with his longer strides. They raced down the hill together.

“Why did you follow me?” he burst out when the ground leveled.

Felline charged through the meadow grass that caught at her fur, her clothes. Clouds of midges swarmed up and got in her nose, making her sneeze. “Why did you leave?”

“Because I still think what I thought before,” he snarled. “We need the tank.”

“Yeah?” The empty holster strapped to her leg flapped. She could run faster without her rifle’s weight, and he glanced down at her with something like interest. “Well, maybe I think you’re right.”

“Ha!” He laughed, recklessly loud in the night. They hurdled the dike at the furthest end of the field and proceeded to tear apart the tank’s foliage camouflage. Then Tygra punched the cockpit release and vaulted into the pilot’s seat. “And here I thought you’d never go against my precious little brother’s orders.”

“I wouldn’t,” Felline said, scowling as she slithered into the copilot’s seat and began bringing the systems online, “but his plan failed. It’s time for a new plan. If we don’t do something, they’ll all die.”

“Huh. You’re not a complete waste after all,” Tygra said. He flashed her a grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she grunted as the tank barreled nose first down the hill and into the meadow, jerking her around in her seat.

He laughed again. “You can think for yourself. I’ve never understood why you don’t do it more often. I figured you’d gotten brainwashed on that trip with my brother or something.”

“How would you know? You never talk to me,” she retorted. The truth was, she’d never tried to get to know him, either. She shouldn’t be throwing stones. “Lion-O has to stay there to keep Grune busy. We’re the best at stealth. It makes sense that the two of us could do this when he can’t.”

“I meant it to be the one of me.” Tygra clashed through the gears as they made the rough transition between meadow and hillside, which made her cringe.

“Too bad,” she said. “Panthro didn’t say you could drive his tank.”

“I’ll tell him it was your idea.”

“Hey!”

“Almost there,” he said, suddenly all business. “Are you ready for this, Felline?”

“Ready this,” she answered, and pushed the blinking red button that said FIRE.

A barrage of guided missiles streaked out, leaving smoky trails against the sky. The enemy tanks weren’t going to be a problem anymore. Meanwhile, Tygra launched one of the tank’s grappling claws, which conveniently took a war mech blip off the radar. The claw squealed, the cable creaking until it caught on the rocky ground. Felline sent out a couple of mortars, clearing the way. The second claw deployed. It caught. Tygra punched the accelerator.

With a ripping snarl, the ThunderTank jumped forward and gained the summit, skidding across stone and dirt. Felline hit her head on the cockpit roof and would have complained, except she was sure Tygra had hit his, too. It didn’t matter. Their ploy had worked. Lion-O snatched the Sword of Omens from a stunned Grune and awakened it.

Felline stared up at the beacon for a split second, feeling its energy coursing through her, and then the lizards opened fire. The ThunderCats burst into action. A sunny streak blinded Felline; Cheetara took out the remaining war mechs in one rush. Tygra’s grin, if possible, grew wider.

“You’re mine, Grune!” Panthro roared through the audio pickups.

Grune must have said something, for a whole bunch of lizards swarmed toward the big, gray cat.

“Dragged myself out of a pit,” Panthro said, slamming through the lizards with powerful swings of his nunchaku, “and nearly starved myself wandering through the desert to get at you! You think a few lizards are gonna keep you safe?”

“I’m afraid this will have to wait for another day!” Grune called, loudly enough for the tank to pick up his voice. “I can see when the odds are not in my favor.”

“We have to stop him!” Felline exclaimed.

“No!” Tygra’s bigger hand crushed hers before she could fire. “You’ll hit Panthro.”

Grune leaped over the crumbling wall, followed by what was left of his army and Panthro, yelling as he swung the nunchaku over his head like a propeller. The general stopped short of leaping the wall, however. He stood, muscled chest heaving, hands fisted at his sides, while Grune and the lizards zoomed away on single-rider, wheeled craft.

..::~*~::..

Anet’s soft voice took on a dreamlike quality inside the hut. “Finding the Stone will not be easy. The Astral Plane is not like anything you’ve ever encountered. There, thought itself is formed into reality.”

Felline believed it. The hut was filled with syrupy, golden light, singing like wind-struck crystal. The light streamed from what could only be described as a hole in the air, shaped like a high-arched door, gleaming like cloth of gold. It swam an inch or so off the back wall.

“Okay,” Lion-O said from in front of it. He took a deep breath and let it out. “I can do this.”

Cheetara walked up to him, leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek. “I believe in you,” she said.

Felline smiled to herself, crossing her arms over her middle. She’d made her peace with the growing attraction between them. Might as well get used to displays like that right now.

The same could not be said for Tygra. His mouth dropped open, but he composed his face quickly into its usual scowl and said, “I’m going with you. This mission’s too important for you to handle alone.”

“Thanks,” Lion-O said sarcastically, “but I don’t need your help.”

“Funny,” the other retorted, “ ‘cause I already saved your tail once today.”

They glared at each other.

“I sense a negative energy between you two,” Anet observed with a gentle smile.

“Yeah, ever since we were cubs,” Tygra said.

He was trying to laugh it off, Felline could tell, but Lion-O was having none of it.

“Fine,” he said. “After you.”

Tygra accepted the challenge. Standing straight, tall, and broad-shouldered, the tiger prince walked into the light and vanished. Felline shivered. Cheetara looked at her curiously.

Lion-O moved to follow, but Anet stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “There is one thing I must tell you,” he said, something like urgency creeping into his voice. “I see something. A vision.”

He paused. Lion-O waited, blue eyes wide.

“By evening bell tomorrow, you will know a betrayal by your brother like you have never known,” the elephant said.

“We don’t always get along, but –” Lion-O hesitated as if he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “He would never betray me.”

“Anet’s visions are never wrong,” Aburn said dolefully.

“Never?” Lion-O’s voice wobbled on that one word, but he said nothing more. Instead, he walked forward, into the light’s embrace, and was gone.

From the night outside, a blackbird gave its rusty caw.

..::~*~::..

Nobody got any sleep. Morning smelled like wet ashes, chilly and hushed.

“If you’re tired, why don’t you sit?” WilyKat asked from the ground. Kit’s head was on his shoulder, but her golden eyes were open and fixed on the portal to the Astral Plane.

“I’m afraid to,” Felline admitted. She stood with Anet, Cheetara, the kittens, and Snarf, half hypnotized by the play of singing golden light still streaming from the broom hut. “Panthro wouldn’t let me take a break until I got the tank back in top order. He was really mad at us for bringing it here. If I sit down, I might fall asleep and never wake up again.”

WilyKit giggled. She got to her feet, pulling her brother up with her. “What do you think it’s like in there?”

“Like anything you can imagine,” Cheetara said, her beautiful face serene. “It’s a state of infinite possibility. It is a place of magic.”

Felline glanced warily up at her. “Don’t tell me you want to go in there.”

“You don’t?” Cheetara asked, her short, upswept eyebrows rising. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“No way.” Felline put her ears back. “I like the Physical Plane, or whatever it is you call this.”

Cheetara smiled.

“Besides, how is there air to breathe in there?” Felline went on, speaking some of her fears aloud. “Or gravity? What if it isn’t three-dimensional? What guarantee would you have that you wouldn’t die when you crossed over because it’s boiling hot, or frozen solid?”

“It’s all right,” Cheetara said. She touched Felline’s arm. “The Astral Plane will provide what is needed for them to survive because they expect it, and will it to be. It would take a true force of evil to deny them air or gravity.”

“So it depends on whether or not any outside force wills them good or evil. I couldn’t take that risk.”

“You are a real pragmatist, Felline,” Cheetara said.

“Not always. My sister was the practical one,” Felline said, saddened by Cheetara’s affectionate tone.

The Book of Omens and what it had done to both Jaga and Lion-O, the rapport the king and the Sword held, the magic that, even now, thrummed in Cheetara’s new staff, all of these things made her fur stand on end. It was a power of a different, otherworldly sort, and she didn’t understand it. It was too amorphous, too unwieldy. Kind of like Faun and her spirits, and what if Lion-O and Tygra ran into spirits in the Astral Plane? Isn’t that what “astral” meant – a nonphysical realm of existence in which all living beings had a non-living counterpart? She’d had enough trouble with a corporeal Summoner, thank you very much. Without Faun and her tumblers, the spirits would have run amok.

Felline patted her rifle, snug in its holster. Give her some solid tech, and she was good.

Not long after this, Panthro joined them. “Bad news. The entire village is surrounded.”

“How many troops?” Cheetara asked.

“If I had to guess, I’d say all of them,” he rumbled, and then looked over Cheetara’s head at Anet. “Considering how hopelessly outnumbered we are, maybe you guys could lend us a hand.”

Anet beamed at him. “As always, we will seek to understand our role through meditation,” he said.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Stone-faced, Panthro turned and walked away. The ThunderTank would help in the coming battle, but Felline and Tygra had severely depleted its ammunition the night before. The cats would be relying on their strength alone.

“I wonder what’s keeping them,” Kit fretted as the general’s heavy tread faded.

“Keeping who?” Anet asked innocently.

“Lion-O and Tygra, remember?”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Anet gazed at the portal. “They went after the Spirit Stone, didn’t they?”

“I bet something went wrong,” Kat moaned.

The wrinkles on Anet’s face deepened. “I do sense a dark presence within, but on the Astral Plane they will face an even greater challenge.”

“What’s that?” Cheetara asked.

“Themselves,” Anet said. “By evening bell tomorrow, Lion-O will feel betrayed by his brother.”

He’d said the same thing the night before. Strange, that he should remember it so clearly, almost word for word, when at times Felline doubted he remembered his own gender. No one had anything to say, however, and the cats, restless, gave up their vigil.

The morning passed with no sign of the royal brothers. Felline followed Panthro around the village and the sandstone terraces of the hill, setting land mines and trying to come up with a decent strategy that didn’t involve surrendering. They weren’t having much luck.

“Look at Grune the Snaggletooth just sitting out there,” WilyKat scoffed, holding Panthro’s spyglass to his eye. He twiddled the knobs, and it beeped in response. “I bet he’s scared.”

“Ever hear how he lost his tooth?” Panthro asked.

The kittens and Snarf watched, wide-eyed, as Panthro joined them at the edge of the road.

“No,” Felline said while she armed the last mine. They didn’t have many. She hoped it would be enough. “What happened?”

“It was during the Lizard War,” Panthro explained, his voice softer, without the usual rumble. “Grune and I busted out of a prison camp and were on the run. With no food, no weapons, and an army after us, we hid in a cave. Turned out, it wasn’t empty. It was Spidera’s nest.”

“S-S-Spidera?” Kat asked, unable to stop a stutter of fear. “I – I thought Spidera was just a myth!”

“So did we.” Panthro scowled grimly. “Next thing we knew, that beast had us backed into a corner, fangs dripping with venom.”

“What did you do?” Kat asked in a small voice.

“Me?” Panthro spoke with frank honesty. “When she had me in her web I prepared for the end. But Grune, he ripped out his own sabretooth.”

“Ugh. _Why?”_

“Because he knew that beast had only one weak spot. Grune used his tooth and jammed it right into that monster’s largest eye.”

WilyKit gasped, but Panthro didn’t seem to hear her, lost in a reverie.

“Afterwards, Grune said something that I never forgot. ‘Any sacrifice is worth the defeat of your enemy.’ ” Panthro’s good eye slid sideways and pinned the twins. “You really think he’s scared?”

“No,” Felline muttered, standing and brushing the dirt off her knees. “But now I am.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Kat said. He tossed Panthro’s spyglass back to its owner and took off, leaving his sister staring after him.

..::~*~::..

They were as ready as they were going to get. The rumble and roar of the lizards’ war mechs trundled ever closer like subterranean thunder. Foot soldiers, too numerous to count, blackened the meadow and began to climb the enormous stairs. Cheetara’s fingers tightened on her staff, one foot propped on the edge of a broken wall. WilyKit tucked her hand into Felline’s.

Panthro lowered the spyglass and powered it down. “It’s time.”

He turned to Anet. “So. Are you gonna help us, or wait for that army to roll over your village?”

“We were supposed to meditate on that, weren’t we?” Anet asked. He chuckled. “Completely slipped our mind. Come, Aburn. Let’s get right to that.”

Shuffling along in their unhurried way, the elephants headed off as if nothing existed but their crumbling village at the top of a lonely hill.

“Of all the slow, dumb . . .” The rest of Panthro’s complaint ended in a rumbly sigh.

Meanwhile, Cheetara could no longer keep quiet. “We can’t stop an army that size,” she exclaimed.

“No,” Panthro agreed, holding up a bomb, “but I’ve got a few surprises that’ll slow ‘em down.”

Without Lion-O to order otherwise, no one cared about killing lizards this time, because for sure, the lizards would show no mercy. The ThunderCats would protect the hut and the portal at all costs.

Felline squeezed Kit’s hand. “Let’s go, then.”

“All right, I’m ready!” WilyKat said, holding up a fist.

“No,” WilyKit said. She pulled her hand free, causing Kat’s tail to droop. She looked at him, and he at her, their identical eyes unwavering. Then hers jumped away. “I’m going with Aburn.”

With a flick of her tail, she was off, joining the herd as they sat cross-legged on their meditation circle. They made way for her, beaming. Her small face was on level with their folded knees.

“Well, I’m going to fight,” WilyKat called after her. “Right, Felline?”

“That’s right,” Felline said. She nodded at Snarf, Cheetara, and Panthro. It was either fight or die. She knew that, even if knowing didn’t stop her heart going cold. The lizards were coming for Elephant Village, just like they’d marched on Thundera. There would be no running today, no kind old hound or swift mount to shield her. They weren’t fighting for survival; they fought to keep hope alive. “We’ll be back. Stay safe.”

“You too,” Cheetara said.

Panthro was watching Felline with an inscrutable look in his mismatched eyes. He said nothing, and she allowed Kat to lead her away.

..::~*~::..

Felline crouched behind a boulder, her back to it, her goggles strapped in place and mapping vectors, her rifle in her hands and humming. The grass was cool, the sky overcast. WilyKat’s striped brown head blended so well with the sandstone that if he didn’t keep popping up to watch the approach of the war mechs, she probably wouldn’t have known he was there. The machines seemed bigger than before, swinging arms that almost touched the ground, their camera pods resembling small heads between the broad shoulders, bristling all over with spikes and huge beam cannons.

She kept quiet and let Kat be. The kittens, like her, had survived Thundera’s fall. They’d seen this kind of warfare. WilyKat was a clever, agile cub, and together, they might make it out of this alive.

She tried to keep her breathing in time with her heartbeats. Calm. Relaxed. Steady. Her ears swiveled, picking up on each scrape of clawed lizard feet, each boom of the ponderous war mechs’. Closer. Closer.

Someone stepped on a mine.

It was an ugly sound, the impressive crack not masking the rending of flesh and bone. Shockwaves groaned through the hill. Felline knew that sound. It brought Thundera back to her, the orange and black sky, the fires burning where there should only have been stone. Wincing, she touched the scar above her left eye. Her token, nearly hidden in her thick, white fur, of the night she lived. Today might finish what those missiles had started; today, she might rejoin her sister.

If she had a choice, she had much rather stay with the ThunderCats. She’d gone through too much to give it all up now.

More mines ripped the day asunder, chain explosions sweeping through mech and foot soldier alike. Briefly, Felline closed her eyes and knocked her head into the boulder to keep the fear at bay. The mines had broken the enemy’s uniform advance, but not stopped it. The lizards continued through the smoke and dirt clogging the air.

Felline stood, took aim through the sudden frenzied numbers scrolling across her lenses, and began firing.

The goggles placed reticles over the pall that shivered in green and red pixels, tracking movement within the smoke. Felline kept steady pressure on the trigger, snapping off shots in quick succession, making the reticles jump spasmodically around, searching for new targets. A wild beeping started right before the vague shapes started shooting back.

Felline gasped as a laser clipped her cheek, feeling like the sting of frostbite, and a second beam left a deep cut on her arm. She dropped with a curse. Had she forgotten? The lizards wore the same goggles.

Neither wound bled, made and cauterized in the same instant, but that didn’t stop them from hurting. Felline clenched her fingers around her rifle, which gleamed in the low light. She hadn’t had a chance to use the new features Ro-Bear Bob had installed before now. Grinning, she slid open a plate and pressed a few buttons.

When she threw herself against the boulder, the rifle lying across it, she came under a barrage of laser fire. Waiting for the target lock beep, she hunched down and pulled the trigger.

Beams of green-white, as thin as burning filaments, sprayed from the muzzle. They spun like a cone of light, slicing through dirt and dust, metal and flesh. Directing the spray toward the largest heat sources, Felline brought down several mechs, where they fell, exploded, and took out surrounding soldiers. The advance hesitated, probably analyzing this new attack, giving her the perfect opportunity to eliminate the first wave.

Although she didn’t need to worry about her charge running low, for the thundrilium chip installed in the battery pack contained nearly limitless power, she did have to be careful of overheating. After thirty seconds, she shut off the beams and balled up behind her boulder before lizard shots could start chipping at it again.

Through the continued explosions, screams, and thuds of more lizard bodies hitting the dirt, someone laughed. Loud, raspy, and full of thick wetness.

She knew that laugh.

“A pitiable defensse,” General Slithe called. “Thundera fell in a day. Thiss will only take momentss!”

“Take the hut,” General Grune said to him. “The cats are mine.”

Felline chanced a glance around her boulder and saw Grune raise his spiked mace. With a growl and crackle, it spat crooked tongues of yellow lightning that sought out all of Panthro’s carefully placed mines. One by one they blew while Felline cowered behind her boulder with her arms over her head. She could no longer see Kat, and she was in danger of losing her hearing as well. Showers of dirt and rock rained down on her. Grune moved methodically up the hill, destroying a mine with each step. Within a minute, perhaps two, he had moved past her.

“WilyKat!” Felline cried. She inhaled a bunch of dirt and started coughing. She got up and tried to run to his hiding place, waving her arms to dispel the cloying dust and smoke, not caring if the lizards could hear her. “Where are you? Kat!”

After she pulled off her goggles, she saw him. The kitten was trying to lift a three-beam rifle as long as he was, fallen from a destroyed mech, to his shoulder. He wobbled under its weight. He didn’t see the three grinning lizards sneaking up behind him while he took aim at a passing war mech. “Kat!”

He fired the rifle. Its triple beam was so powerful it lifted him clear off his feet and sent him rocketing into the trio behind him, knocking all three lizards senseless. Unbelievably, it also caused the mech to explode.

“Kat, get up!” Felline stood over the dazed cub and shot at two more lizards, one of which she missed. That one lurched forward, bayonet aimed at her stomach. She sidestepped it, grabbed the fins at the sides of his head, and brought her knee up and into his face as hard as she could. Several triangular teeth scattered over the uneven ground when he fell. WilyKat gave a sigh of relief when he got a good look at his handiwork.

“They’re heading for the hut,” Felline said. “We have to go. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Okay,” Kat agreed. His flink whizzed out, its claw-hooks sinking deep into a charging lizard’s thigh. When he yanked on the cord, the claws tore free, and the lizard folded in a gout of femoral blood, thrashing.

WilyKat and Felline ran as fast as the advancing army let them. It was sort of a hopscotch game, sprinting a few yards, stopping to fight, and then limping on again. When they reached the crumbling outer wall of the village, WilyKat dropped to all fours and raced off; Cheetara stood alone before the hut, staff braced against the horde of lizard soldiers closing on her. Felline sped up, hoping to catch up to Kat.

Something punched her right between the shoulder blades, sending her sprawling in the grass. Her rifle bounced away.

“And jusst where,” chuckled a sibilant, liquescent voice, “do you think you’re going?”

A lumpy shadow draped itself across her. She rolled over, teeth clenched on a scream. General Slithe lifted a warty, long-toed foot and brought it smashing down, but she rolled again and scrambled to her feet. Tail swelling, she hissed at him.

He hissed back, lips spreading in a pointy smirk. He wore a leather mask over his yellow eyes, but let his chin hang free like a wattle, his torn breechcloth held up by a pair of crossed, ragged leather straps. He, too, wore a red jewel centered on his flabby, white chest, but it wasn’t Mumm-Ra’s emblem; it was set in a horned skull.

“It’ss over, cat,” he told her. “You’re outnumbered, out-gunned, and I am going to enjoy ushering your filthy race into extinction, sstarting with you!”

He fired his gun, but she leaped out of the way. She dodged and skipped until she reached her rifle. Swooping down, she scooped it up and fired back, and she was a better shot. She hit him on the wrist that wasn’t covered with a metal bracer.

“Yeow!” he growled, shaking out his hand. They studied each other.

“I am going to hurt you for that, cat,” he hissed, eyes narrowing. “You won’t like it, but I will.”

This close, Felline couldn’t help but notice how different Slithe looked from his kinsmen. He was taller, more muscular, but also fatter. Like a mutant, his long arms resembled the arms of the war mechs behind him, which powered up their beam cannons, preparing to blow away Cheetara and WilyKat.

Squat legs brought Slithe stalking closer, spiked tail wagging with each step. Felline fired at him, but he deflected it with the serrated knife clipped to his gun. She fired again, and again, but he kept coming, yellow eyes glittering malevolently, mouth splitting his warty face in two.

Something more than fear locked her in place and started a trembling in her knees. Slithe was so close, so wide, so powerful, and he was going to hurt her, as he’d promised. She fired one more shot that went uselessly high and then lashed out with the rifle itself.

Slithe closed long, knobby fingers around it and wrenched it out of her grasp. He then smashed it on a rock, shattering the stock and charge pack. With his other hand, the one she’d wounded, he slashed at her face.

Wildly, she threw up her arms. His knife opened a line of agony from her wrist to her elbow. Then he drove his fist into her unprotected stomach.

Her knees hit the ground with bruising force. She gagged over his sinewy green arm. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t _breathe._ . . .

He latched his hand around her throat and lifted her so that her feet dangled. “Ssay goodbye,” he crooned.

Dark spots clustered across his ugly sneer. Although Felline felt the tears streaming down her face, she couldn’t fight him. Just as, so long ago, she couldn’t fight her own father, not to protect her sister, not even to protect herself. Just as their mother had failed to protect them from Snow. Felline was no match for one of Mumm-Ra’s generals.

The thought saddened her. She closed her eyes against the black spots.

He laughed and squeezed.

A beam cannon went off. Slithe’s arm lowered, dragging Felline along the ground like a doll. Lashes wet, teeth clenched, she reached up and sank her claws into his scales, trying to wedge her fingers beneath his. His grip loosened, and then he dropped her.

Another cannon fired. Felline heard Cheetara say, “Thought you were going to meditate.”

“We did,” Anet replied. Through her swimming eyes, Felline stared up at the robed elephant, who was holding a war mech above his head as if the weight was nothing at all. His face, however, was uncharacteristically dark. “And this was the answer that came to us.”

He heaved the war mech away, where it landed on another. Both went up in flames.

A long line of elephants approached, side by side, all male, large and strong. WilyKit rode on Aburn’s shoulder. When the lizard army broke and ran before the elephants, Kit gleefully shouted, “You just woke a village of sleeping giants. ThunderCats, _ho!”_

Slithe watched in horror as his comrades were stomped flat beneath massive feet, kicked aside like flimsy green and blue toys, or outright fled before Aburn and the others.

“The elephantss,” he choked, having completely forgotten Felline, wheezing at his feet. “The elephantss never fight!”

“Only rarely,” Anet corrected him angrily. He raised his fists. “But when we do, we fight to _win.”_

Faster than Felline believed possible, Anet took a swing at the malformed lizard with an arm like a gray tree trunk. Quick as a snake, Slithe dodged. Anet tried to crush him beneath both fists, but again, Slithe slithered away. Grinning, the lizard zigzagged in and thrust the blade of his gun toward Anet’s face. Anet gracefully moved aside and grabbed the gun. He ripped it from Slithe, sending the lizard spinning into the dirt. Then, still uncharacteristically frowning, he bent the gun in half and tossed it away like garbage.

Gasping, Slithe scrambled to his feet and bailed.

“Are you all right?” Anet asked Felline in his gentle accent. He offered her a hand, but she only needed the tip of one finger to help her upright.

“Panthro,” she rasped through her sore, abused throat, and pointed.

Panthro and Grune were engaged in a death match near the abandoned ThunderTank. That was the only way she could think to describe the brutality of their duel, for their weapons had been discarded and they seemed unaware of anything going on around them. Each meaty thud of their fists connecting resonated in Felline’s chest. They fought, and as they fought, they traveled over the broken ground, snarling and growling in absolute hatred. Eventually, they ended up in front of the glowing hut.

“What is that?” Cheetara exclaimed, staring at the portal.

Anet had noticed it, too. He held out his arms, holding her, the kittens and Snarf, and Felline, back from the light. It intensified, the crystal singing nearing painful pitch.

It wasn’t the light Anet was protecting them from, Felline realized. It was the wind.

A powerful wind, pulling on them with all the strength of Third Earth’s gravity, sucking everything in front of the hut inside. Tygra and Lion-O appeared out of the light, running into the swirling debris, past the two battling generals. The brothers threw themselves forward, somersaulting to safety.

Neither Grune nor Panthro seemed to realize the danger they were in, determined to finish their fight. When Grune began to slip backward, however, he latched onto Panthro’s arm. Both cats skidded toward the hut, grunting and straining against the wind. Grune seized Panthro’s other arm just as his feet left the ground.

“Pull me free, Panthro!” Grune howled, anchored to the gray cat and therefore the Physical Plane. He passed through the hut’s door. Panthro struggled not to cross the lintel, but his feet kept sliding inexorably forward. “Pull me free, or we both die!”

An inch. Another. Panthro was inside the hut.

“What’s happening?” WilyKat yelled.

“Panthro!” Felline shouted.

“Felline, stop!” Cheetara cried, but her hair was in her face, and she was helpless.

“I’m sorry, little one,” Anet gently said, “but you must stay here.” He curled a massive arm around Felline’s middle, hugging her to him. He stood against the wind, more solid than a rock.

“Can’t we do something?” Felline asked desperately.

“We can wait,” Anet said.

Then they heard Panthro bellow, _“Defeat of your enemy is worth any sacrifice!”_

Grune began screaming. Wordless, furious, and terrified. With a horrible crescendo, the light engulfed the hut, turned blue-white, and then exploded.

Groaning, Felline picked herself out of the rubble. The others were doing the same. Immediately, she looked for Panthro.

He knelt in the ruin of the hut. At first, Felline thought that he’d escaped unscathed.

Until she noticed the glowing, blue-white light that circled his biceps just below the shoulders.

And that the rest of his arms were gone.

“Worth it,” he rumbled, sweat beading up and rolling down his temples.

The ThunderCats ran to the general and reached him as he fell face first onto the stony ground and lay still.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The elephants threw a party that night.

Music, food, and drink spread out beneath the stars. Dancing commenced around the enormous bonfire burning merrily in its pit. Though the elephants ate no meat, there was plenty of fruit to satisfy their guests. The laughter swelled, transforming into rollicking songs around the time Aburn cracked the tenth cask. Anyone who wanted to ignore the destruction of the village, the heaps of wrecked machinery, and the mass grave now occupying one of the fields in the meadow below, certainly might.

“That place,” Lion-O said, referring to the Astral Plane. He shook his red head. “It brought our worst desires and fears to life.”

“But you overcame them,” Cheetara said from atop a low stone wall that had somehow not yet succumbed to either artillery or gravity. She crossed her long legs. “Anet told us that the greatest challenge you would face would be yourselves. Neither of you accepted either your wishes or your doom.”

“Almost, Cheetara. We almost died in there.” Lion-O grinned into his mug, the firelight swimming, golden, over his face. “Would it surprise you to know that we fought to kill?”

“No,” Cheetara and Felline said at the same time.

When the two women smiled at each other, Lion-O looked as if he didn’t know whether to be offended or amused. To cover his confusion, he took a large gulp of what the elephants called _mead._ It tasted gentle, like everything about their giant friends, honeyed and lacking bite, but it made Felline lightheaded. She hadn’t finished half her mug yet, mostly because she had to hold it in two hands because it was so big.

“You were gone a long time. What exactly happened to you in there?” Felline asked. She kicked her heels against the stone wall. If she hadn’t been so sore and tired, she might have been out there dancing like Kat. She was content to sit near her king in quiet conference, soaking in the gladness that suffused her entire being because he was safe.

“The Spirit Stone hid from us,” he said. “Or maybe the Stone was what made the Astral Plane possible. It showed us a memory and then trapped us in it.” He paused. “When we were cubs, Tygra tricked me into falling into the ruins of Old Thundera, and then he abandoned me to die. We forgot about looking for the Stone and focused only on our anger and hatred of each other. It gave Tygra a Sword of Omens.”

Lion-O stopped, his eyes on the antics of Aburn and Kit, playing their trunk and flupe respectively, but Felline didn’t think he saw them. His blue eyes were dark, his thoughts turned inward. Felline watched while shadows of them flickered across his cream and gold face. Whatever he was remembering, it was between the brothers, and she didn’t pry.

“Mumm-Ra played on our jealousies and fears,” he murmured.

“Mumm-Ra?” Cheetara repeated, startled.

Mumm-Ra. Instantly, Felline seemed transported to the Tower of Omens, the thick stink of jungle clogging her nose, the ancient being’s roars hurting her ears. They had nearly lost Lion-O that day, too. But Mumm-Ra’s screams had dwindled into a bird’s cawing, its wings black against the sky.

A black bird. Cawing.

“No way!” she exclaimed so suddenly that Lion-O inhaled some of his mead and started coughing. “Sorry.”

“What is it, Felline?” Cheetara asked.

“I heard a bird,” she whispered. “Last night. When Lion-O and Tygra went into the Astral Plane. The same bird I heard when Jaga’s light reversed Mumm-Ra’s transformation in the Tower of Omens.”

“But he couldn’t have been there –”

“Yeah, he could. He was,” Lion-O said darkly. “Mumm-Ra was there with us, manipulating us. He wanted us to kill each other, but I found the Spirit Stone first.” He slipped his hand into the Gauntlet of Omens and held it up to the flames. They glittered in the pink facets of the Stone, which was embedded in the gold Gauntlet above the knuckles.

“Besides,” he added, his face and voice relaxed again, “Tygra would never betray me. He’s my brother.”

He smiled in a way that Felline had never seen before, looking down the hill to where Tygra stood alone at the edge of the great fire’s light in a stone pavilion, staring across the moonlit meadows. Not surprisingly, the prince had needed some time alone.

“I’m glad you’ve remembered that,” Cheetara said fondly, her eyes molten in the light. She slipped off the wall, running her fingers down Lion-O’s arm as she went. She walked down the hill, long and lithe and as bright as a beam of sunlight. Lion-O’s eyes followed her, and then he turned to Felline.

“What about you?” he asked. He nodded at the bandage taped to her cheek. “Aside from Panthro, it looks like the rest of you went through quite an ordeal.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she said, shrugging off his concern. It was a superficial cut, but the one on her arm, made by Slithe’s knife, would scar when it healed. Felline couldn’t stop a shiver. She could still feel Slithe’s knotty fingers around her throat. . . .

He gave her a skeptical look.

“All right, yes, it was,” she admitted. “I meant, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I understand now why they didn’t go for the hut right away, since destroying it would have been the quickest way of undoing us.”

“They didn’t want to risk trapping their master in the Astral Plane,” Lion-O said.

“Like Grune,” she murmured.

Lion-O shook his head again, but it was with wonder. “Grune’s gone. Forever. When I claimed the Spirit Stone, the Astral Plane collapsed. The unbound energies and took him with it. Who knew Panthro could be so . . .”

“Determined?” Felline suggested when he failed to find an appropriate word.

“Yeah.”

Silence fell between them, but only for a moment. Lion-O finished his mead, set the mug on the wall, and grinned at her. “I suppose we’d better go check on him.”

“All right,” she said. She hopped down, and they skirted the dancing together.

Some of the elephant women had set Panthro in the shelter of one of their few roofed buildings, though it stood open to the party on three sides. The big, gray cat reclined against a broken column, the stumps of his arms bandaged in clean white.

“Ahhhh,” Snarf said, proffering a spoon of vegetable mash.

“I don’t need a blasted nursemaid!” Panthro roared at him.

Snarf, swollen to twice his chubby size, scampered off with a hiss that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. The bowl landed upside-down on the steps. Panthro gave it a contemptuous sniff.

“How’re you holding up?” Lion-O asked.

“Know what I’ll miss the most?” Panthro rumbled in answer, sinking wearily into his pillow. “The scars. Lot of history on those arms.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” Lion-O said, giving Felline a glimpse of the future king inside him, his smile noble rather than placating. “Get some rest.”

He turned away, looking for Felline as if it was the most natural thing in the world that she continue on with him. They moved together through the dancers, eating a few bites here and there, checking on the kittens and Aburn. Then Lion-O climbed to the summit of the village, where the stars shed their milky light on the blue grass.

Felline sat at the edge of the promontory, curling her tail and her arms, one of them bandaged as neatly as Panthro’s, around her knees. A single, full moon stared down at them, mute and distant.

They didn’t speak. There was no need. Felline closed her eyes, let the stars bathe her face. She thought of Lepra. For the first time, there was no pain. It was like she was talking to her sister, telling her of their journey thus far. The grief was still there – _I miss you, Lep_ – but it was a kinder feeling, more peaceful – _Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m not alone._

_We’re not done yet. There are still some things we need to do._ Felline ran her hand down her trousered leg, bare of the holster that had once held Jorma’s rifle. Losing a gun could not compare to Panthro’s sacrifice, but she felt it, a nakedness and a sorrow that tagged at her heels like a cub.

“Few could have faced what you did and come out victorious, Lion-O,” Anet said, joining them. “You did well.”

“You know, you said I’d be betrayed by the evening bell,” Lion-O reminded him with a chuckle. “I thought your visions were never wrong.”

“Did the evening bell ring already? I don’t remember hearing it,” Anet placidly said.

“Of course you don’t.” Lion-O rolled his eyes.

Felline giggled.

Not long after, as they made their way back down the hill, Felline with half a mind to find more to eat, they once more caught sight of Tygra. Except this time, he wasn’t alone.

Cheetara appeared in the pavilion, moving gracefully from shadow to moonlight. She and Tygra spoke, too far away for even Felline to hear them.

Then they embraced.

They kissed.

Unseen, unthought of by the couple below, Lion-O and Felline stopped walking, absolutely rigid with shock.

From somewhere in the village, a bell tolled.


End file.
